Meh, I can take them all!
by wkz
Summary: Worm is a story containing Powers! It gets worse! Bullies! SuperVillains! It gets worse! Monsters! Warlords! Politics! Evil Conspiracies! It gets even worse! The End of the World! And Everyone Doing the Wrong Things for Right Reasons! ... Gah, that sucks. Let's add a little something more. Something called… … You thought I was going to say 'Heroism', right?
1. Arc 1: Training Montage 1

**Disclaimer**  
One Punch Man is a webmanga by One, and is also a published manga redraw by Yusuke Murata (Eyeshield 21).  
It contains lots and lots of heroes, and has a simplistic apathetic classic hero as its main character. Track it down if you can; it's ridiculously absurd, but really good too.  
wkz most certainly does not own it.

Worm is a completed web-serialization by Wildbow.  
It contains lots and lots of villains, and has a complex proactive atypical villain as its main character. Track it down if you can; it's ridiculously lengthy, but really good too.  
wkz most certainly does not own it either.

Meh, I can take them all! is an ongoing fanfic crossover by wkz, who shamelessly stole material from both of the above.  
No prior knowledge of both sources are needed, but as with all fanfics knowledge of the origin material will increase your enjoyment as well as inoculate you against spoilers from both series. Enjoy.

* * *

**Arc 1: *Training Montage*  
Snip #1**

I knocked on the door. There was a muffled reply from the other side, and I entered as instructed. We laid eyes on each other during the small moments needed to close the door, the Director of the PRT in the middle of her lair and me, a jobless common branch office sales manager. We were about as hilariously mismatched in terms of power, status, responsibilities and power as it was humanely possible to do so without me being a lot younger, or bringing actual powers into the picture.

She waved her hand at one of the available seats, and I accepted the offer.

"Mr… Simon. I'm Director Piggot," she said, her sharp piercing eyes following my every move. Maybe she was sizing me up, I thought as I got comfortable. Maybe she needed to, as part of her job. One eye focused on me, taking in everything and evaluating my capabilities. The other facing inwards, taking in the situation, evaluating the possibilities. And between them, a brain on overdrive, running through a thousand plans, stratagems, and decisions a minute.

I most certainly wasn't. I wasn't even trying.

It was rude, but I still can't get over how FAT she was.

I am ashamed. But the thought had stuck, like barnacles, and refused to go away. I spoke first, more to scrape the metaphorical ship's hull of its unwanted guests rather than any wish to speak first. "So, why am I here?"

Disbelief clouded her features for a moment before she hid it expertly. "I'll be blunt," she said, "You're most likely a cape."

I was still scraping the hull when the dynamite that was her words hit me, the barnacles, the ship and the docks it was in, and blew the whole metaphorical thing to pieces. "I'm a cape?" I managed to stutter.

"You're most likely a cape."

"I'm most… ah. You don't know for sure."

"Not fully, but we're sure enough to have this meeting. How much do you know about powered individuals in general?"

"Absolutely nothing, ma'am. Other than the fact there's an awful lot of fighting in the world today."

"The shortest of summaries then. There is a lot of speculation on the subject, but it is generally agreed that to get powers, you have to a few conditions. One of them is the trigger event."

"I've heard of trigger events, at least." I interrupted.

I think she did not like that. "Explain."

"Huh?"

"Explain what you know, so we're on the same page."

"Oh. Erm… Bad things happened to someone, and they get powers from it."

She continued her icy stare at me as I paused.

"That's about it."

She sighed, and picked up the slack, "That's not all of it, but it'll suffice for now."

"And you believe I had a trigger event, Just now."

"And we know you had a trigger event."

"How?"

"Because we were there, 'just now'. We have people who recognize the symptoms…"

* * *

Two hours earlier, I, Simon Tama was a dejected pile of rejected material.

The interview had not gone well.

My car did not start.

A dog pissed on me as I waited to cross the road.

I realized my wallet was in the car, and got screamed at by the bus driver for wasting his time.

My car, with all four of its wheels missing, was merrily burning to the ground by the time I walked back.

And as I stared at the explosion which used to be my car, I saw screaming pedestrians run past me, _TOWARDS_ the exploding car.

I turned around. I looked upwards. And higher up. And I took a step back so I can look up a bit more.

A slug-like face with no nose, protruding eyes and a slit with too much teeth looked right back at me.

Well, fuck me.

We looked at each other for a long time, me and him. I think I got dripped on, his skin apparently producing slime and who knows what. His eyes waved around almost hypnotically, sometimes looking around, but mostly on me.

"Why aren't you running?" he rumbled more than spoke. "All of them did."

I did not reply.

The slit that made up his mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. "Nothing worth living for, eh?"

I suppressed the urge to reply.

"Seen a kid with a salt shaker around these parts?" The surprise must have shown on my face as he shifted his weight.

"No," I answered. Couldn't hurt to answer that question, however out of the left field that was.

"Well. So, I think you and I, we're very similar people." He walked past, patting me on the right shoulder and in the process depositing a lot of slime all over my upper arm, "I think I'll let you live, because of that."

I let out a breath I did not know I was holding.

"Except, you know," the voice was distant and soft, but audible enough, "I have powers. And you still suck. Suffer on, like I used to. Ho ho ho ho ho…"

Well, fuck me a lot.

* * *

"When you put it that way, it is possibly the worst moment of my life." I conceded.

The Director of the PRT continued in her quest to lower the room temperature of her room through her stare.

"But here's the thing. I did not have a trigger event or whatever it is called, because I. Don't. Have. Powers."

"Bull. Shit."

And now she was parroting my slow, deliberate, capitalized spoken emphasis.

"I really don't have…"

"Bullshit. You took down a Brute 5 all by yourself. And you say you don't have powers?"

"I had help."

"You have a kid skipping his third day of High School."

"I had bags and bags of salt courtesy of that kid's helpful directions and my tie as a makeshift slingshot. Against a naked guy who's powers are basically 'I'm a slug'. Which reminds me, the only reason why I'm here is because I'm broke. One of your people told me earlier that the PRT will foot the bill I owe that convenience store, so would you?"

She must think she have frost powers, the way she was staring at me.

"Look, Madam Pig… Got, is it? I really don't have powers. I don't think I gained powers, and I really still feel like I don't have powers here."

We continued to look at each other, the silence broken by the dripping of the thick, tough, congealed slime from earlier finally melting off and dropping in clumps from my shirt, my limbs, my body, my… everywhere.

"We will pay for the damages you incurred," the pig finally conceded, leaning back, "out of the reward for his capture. Now get out."

"Thank you very much for your time." I stood up, "I'll show myself out."

* * *

An hour of excessive paperwork, sitting through an officer's laments of ruined paperwork due to dripped slime, buying clothing from the gift ship (Armsmaster decal underwear, really?), borrowing a shower, and another hour of paperwork later, I walked out of the PRT building.

I had an ordeal and a hundred dollars out of a wasted days' worth of too much excitement… I really used up a lot of salt back then.

But I digress.

I had bruises all over, a grateful kid's thanks in the form of his pocket change, and my only set of somewhat expensive business attire ruined, in exchange for a day of bodily danger.

But above all, I also had an epiphany.

Capes aren't invulnerable.

It is possible to do good against them, even without powers.

And I think I have a new goal in life... nah, maybe a new hobby in life. Fighting against capes doesn't pay much, the evidence in the mere hundred or so dollars in my pocket.

All I need is some exercise, my muscles reminded me as they ached all over. Got to change that.


	2. Arc 1: 2

**Snip #2**

Oh shit.

Oh shit oh fuck oh shit.

Oh fuck me, I'm in big trouble.

I could not even do fifteen pushups before collapsing into a twitching heap.

I was weak. I was less than weak. I was at the level of a child, or something about there. I was probably even less than that; I seem to recall the second last issue of the now out-of-print Guinness Book of World Records having an entry about a kid who can lift ten times his own weight… didn't it?

Never mind that, that child was an outlier, a suspected parahuman even, the encouraging half of my brain argued.

Never mind _THAT_, the traitorous half of my brain countered, I was an outlier in the complete opposite direction.

Oh fuckingly shitingly fuck.

I turned myself over to face the ceiling, choking in large gulps of air. It beats pretending to be a vacuum cleaner on my kitchen floor. I could not even stare at the ceiling, as the bare bulb tried its darnest to blind me. I was so worn out that I could not even sit up to avoid the bulb's glare, and had to shut my eyes.

And in doing so I retreated to the world of thoughts.

I wasn't that weak, was I? Seriously, I could do more than the fail I did just now?

Maybe the slime contained a toxin… Yes that was it. Maybe it would take more than a week before the muscle-weakening properties of the super cape slime would dissipate and…

I forcefully shut down the delusional, excuse-forming part of my personality even as I gave myself a hateful glare. A glare of hate at the negative portions of my mind, which was still gleefully applauding my decision to face the unpadded facts.

I gave him, me, my best glare. The mirror I could see through the open bedroom door helped.

But… at the end of the day, that negativity inside me was… correct. How in the world was I supposed to best anyone at all? I probably could not win in a fight against the ancient grandma in the corner apartment on the floor where I lived. How in the world was I supposed to win against people with powers, who have been gifted to be much better than the average homo sapiens with next to no training themselves?

How in the world am I going to beat anyone at all?

How in the world had I bested the slug cape?

The kid I rescued, that's how.

The child, who had frozen when he realized the slug-man was after him.

The life I had rescued with a flying leap. Who, in turn, had the balls to throw the entire contents of his salt-shaker at the slug-cape when he was standing triumphantly over my bruised, prone body.

The man-in-making, who while openly weeping at his fate, was bravely opening packet after packet, bag after bag, bottle after bottle of common salt, enduring though the repeated beatings after heavy beatings of the irate store owner even as he gave me my only chance of winning…

…

I sat up.

The child I rescued was weak, but he was also stronger than I could ever be.

I turned myself over. Palms pressed onto the floor at either side of me.

I was weak, I admitted to myself. I was a weakling, in every sense of the word.

But not anymore. I thought back to a week ago, when I had so much resolve. I willed myself into having the same resolve, now.

I pushed. A strong, blinding pain hit me, turning my world white even as it amplified with the movement of my burning muscles. It crushed me, forcing me to…

'Not Any More!' I shouted in my mind as I screamed out with my voice. There was no way I was going to quit now. I **WILL** do twenty pushups by the end of today. I will do thirty tomorrow.

I will do a hundred pushups by the end of the month, even if it killed me!

I pushed again and again and again through the blinding white pain.

…

Maybe a hundred pushups at the end of two months?

* * *

Fifteen, Fourteen, Thirteen, Twelve…

It was only half a year into my self-training. It was already half a year into my training.

Seven, Six, Five…

The pain came again and again, turning my world a familiar white.

Three…

Good. It was a good pain.

Two…

I nearly collapsed, nearly stopped there. 'No!' I declared to myself, 'Not when I was so close!'

One…

And…

Done!

I turned myself over, almost too weary to throw my hands up in the air in a clear sign of victory. I whooped and cheered with all my strength instead to compensate, to express my cheer at an impossible task well done!

I have finally done it!

I have finally done **Fifty** pushups!

At this rate, I will do a hundred by the end of the year! Progress!

The loud banging and shouting on both the ceiling and the floor shut me up quickly. My neighbors above and below me continued to complain sulphurously as the few specks of dust left over from half a year of neighborly complains wafted down and covered my prone form.

Still, I couldn't help but squee where I was.

Silently, of course. It was, after all, about two am at night.

* * *

I had no idea when exactly it started. I think it was two years into my own training or so by then.

But for the last month, since February or so, I had been seeing a familiar face. A girl, a fellow jogger, running at around the same times as I did, in the early mornings of the day before the world woke up.

She was probably in her mid-teens, her above-average tallness amplifying her thin and spindly body of an adult not yet grown into. She had long, black curly hair tied in a pigtail during her runs, and a pair of spectacles rounded out the look of the classic introvert.

Introvert or not, she would nod at me as she spotted me in the mornings, recently. Sometimes, she would even try to match my speed.

Some of the times, she would even succeed.

After all, she did not run as far as I did every morning. Without the needs of holding back her stamina, she could burn up her energy at a near sprint every morning, spitting off once we reached the Broadwalk, sometimes even at the Marketplace.

She would not know that my jogging route took me from Captain's Hill through the center of Brockton Bay to the beaches. Her route coincidentally met with mine near the end of this part, which would then continue along the beach near her house, through the Broadwalk and up through to the Market. I would usually leave her behind then, cutting straight through the Docks and back to Captain's Hill.

I figured that route would be about… ten kilometers? Coupled with my hundred squats, hundred situps and hundred pushups, that would be more than enough to make me strong enough, right?

But, again, I digress…

Ah.

There she was, again. It appeared she was waiting for me.

That was a first.

She joined me as we wordlessly ran at a near sprint towards the Broadwalk.


	3. Arc 1: 3

**Snip #3**

"Wait." she said. It was the first word she had ever said to me, ever. This was, apparently, a day of firsts.

I slowed down to a stop in the middle of the Broadwalk. She needed that, choking and struggling as her body finally gave out. I almost had to reach out and help her as she stumbled, leaning on one of the handrails along the beach.

I did help her moments later; when you stop immediately after a strenuous run, do not ever stop moving. Walk around. It would do you good for your body.

I told her so.

And on shaky legs, she complied. Her legs were weak from the run, so weak she even fell once. That happened right as I was flipping back the cowl of my sweat shirt with both hands, so to my shame I did not catch her in time. I helped her up instead as she stammered, obviously embarrassed by her fall as she tried to say something, but unable to do so due to her still urgent need to breath. Eventually, she looked away.

Ah, to be young again.

I continued to wait, using up the time by 'falling' onto the ground and starting my push-ups. I might as well complete the hundred push-ups for today as I waited.

It took five minutes for her to recover her breath. It took five more minutes before she spoke up.

"You're a running machine, you know?"

"Thank you." I said on my eighty ninth push-ups. I choose to ignore the second, unspoken question. If she continued as long as I had (two years) she would attain my speed and endurance, easily.

"How far is your run by the way? At this pace, it shouldn't be much further than the Docks?"

"I start and stop at Capitol Hill." I said. Ninety four.

"What? That's… that's across town! You sprint across town every day, with that pace? Twice?"

One Hundred. "Yes. And if you would excuse me, I have to complete my run now." I got up and clapped my palms free of dust.

"Oh, erm… Sorry." She replied, her hands clasped low together in front of her. "I, ah… goodbye then, mister?"

"Simon. Simon Tama."

"Taylor Hebert. Goodbye Mr Tama. Sorry for taking up your time. The run was… informative."

I nodded politely, before I turned and jogged off.

"Wow, five kilometers a day. That has to be some..."

I almost facefaulted as I stumbled.

**WHAT**?

* * *

When a person finds out he is lacking, it is obvious he should try to rectify the mistake.

I had found out I was lacking. I had only ran five kilometers per day, every day. So, naturally, I took steps to rectify that.

It was three am at night, an hour when there would be no pedestrians. I ran down the empty streets and alleyways, looking right and left.

On the plus side, I had not realized how cooling running in the middle of the night was. It was enjoyable. The lack of screaming neighbors complaining about the time of the night was also surprisingly pleasant. I resolve to go on night runs in the future, leaving the more room-bound exercise to earlier hours.

On the other hand, I had not realized how places at night could look vastly different from the daytime, especially with the whole place covered in shadow. And there were plenty of shadows in the Docks; only a third of the streetlamps were working, and not very well at that.

In short, I was lost somewhere in the Docks.

Nevertheless, I continued with my usual pace through the Docks, looking right and left for helpful people. It was deep in the middle of the night, but surely there would be some…

Ah, there we are.

"Hey!" I shouted, as I ran towards four people wearing jeans and leather jackets with metallic ornaments, standing around a barrel set alit.

They took one look at me, swore, and took out sticks and knives and a gun, all pointed towards me.

Oh boy. Not again.

* * *

Five seconds later, they were down and out.

This was the sixth group to have done so tonight. It can't be my appearance, was it? I was after all wearing a sweatshirt with a hood over my head, and sweatpants. That should be perfectly natural attire for a person running for exercise, wasn't it?

Anyway, I made sure the unconscious bodies were comfortable, before I looked around. Nope. Still could not recognize the place. But the local art was amazing. "E88" it said, in bright vibrant colors.

Shrugging my shoulders, I picked up the pace again.

* * *

I spotted the crowd as I turned the corner out of the alleyway. It was quite a large crowd of people, and I realized they were crowded around another person speaking to them quite loudly. The speaker was wearing a metal mask as he orated, gesturing as his voice spoke about something with passion.

"… and when you see one of those punks on the ground, don't assume! Don't hesitate! You… huh?"

He looked right at me as I approached, the crowd following his sight soon after. I had by then reached the outskirts of the group, and I circled around them until I was in front of the crowd.

"Hi" I said.

"… what do you want?" he challenged, gruffly.

"I'm a bit lost actually. Can you tell me where the trainyards are?"

"Oh. It's just over there." The helpful speaker casually pointed behind him with a thumb. "Just follow the road, and you'll be there after about five minutes of walking."

"Ah, thank you, kind sir." I said, and I resumed my jogging…

… only to be stopped by a hand on my shoulder as I reached the speaker.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he growled.

"Err… no?"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he shouted, as he flared. His hands and clothes caught fire as I jumped back in surprise.

'He's a parahuman.' I thought.

I looked over at the crowd. To the last, they had weapons out and ready; homemade flails, sticks, knives of all sizes and a few handguns were out and ready in their hands.

'And he has a gang, too.' I realized. I berated myself for not noticing earlier, as I turned back to the obvious leader of the gang.

" 'o 'u dink I'm 'tupid!?" he roared again, having gained half again his height as armor plates grew on his skin. " ye a SPY, 'n I'm gonna BEAT 'u UP!"

And I was going to get into fight. With a cape.

Well, why not? This was what I had trained for, wasn't it? I readied myself and brought my fists up into a guard.

The burning man twice as tall as he used to be chuckled. " 'u? 'ight 'e? I'm **LUNG**, 'n I'm…"

I punched, aiming for his chest.

He fell.

… … …

… … … … … …

… … … … … … … … … … … …

Huh?

I looked down at the parahuman. The fires he had generated had died out, leaving him naked in the middle of the street. He groaned a bit as he laid there on his back, but otherwise did not get up. He was rapidly shrinking now that he was unconscious, the shrinking closing up the open and bleeding hole in his chest in the process.

I sighed with relief as I spotted his chest rising and falling. I did not know much about first aid, but a moving chest without too much blood should be a good sign he was still alive and well, so that was good.

But still, that was… anti-climactic. Maybe if…

I looked at Lung's gang. The crowd looked at their leader, prone on the ground. They looked at me. They looked at each other.

And as one, they scattered. Weapons clattered onto the ground, abandoned. Some were screaming incomprehensible language at the top of their voices, while others tripped on the abandoned weapons, fell, got up, and tripped again. A few even knocked themselves out as they tripped, and yet others crawled rather than getting up, making surprisingly good time on all fours.

In five minutes, I was the only one left standing on the street.

Meh, must be some C-lister and his group of wannabes, I sigh to myself as I resumed my run towards the train graveyard.

* * *

Over the prone body of Lung, on the rooftop of the nearby building, a girl in a mask watched as the very familiar man ran away.

Eventually, she whispered, "What…"

* * *

Three blocks away, four teenagers astride on gigantic beasts looked at the tiny prone bodies on the ground in the distance. Eventually, they reacted.

"What…"

"The… Fuck?"

"Ooooo..."

"… grrrrrr…"

* * *

Four streets away, in a hastily stopped motorbike, a bulkily armored man in silver with blue relief watched a playback on a monitor built into his vehicle. He clicked and prodded on his instrumentation, checking the readings again. And again. And a third time. And yet again.

Eventually, he came to a single professional conclusion.

"What…"

* * *

Over in another world, a woman about to get into bed asked a single question.

She paused. She stopped.

She asked again.

"What…"


	4. Arc 1: 4

**Snip #4**

The girl, 'Tailor Herbert' I think, was waiting for me again today. That was the second time she had done so, and twice in a row at that.

I ran past her, as usual. She started running, following me on the coincidentally similar running path. As usual.

Unfortunately for the both of us, today was one of the days she could not keep up with my pace. It was as if she had arrived tired, her stamina spent before she had even started. As we moved towards the Broadwalk, the girl struggled and nearly stumbled several times, only managing to keep within sight of myself through what I assumed to be sheer force of will.

It was a laudable effort, but the lack of two years of foundation showed when she finally gave up within sight of the Marketplace.

Too bad, I thought as the gap between us extended. I was looking forward to seeing if she wanted to have a conversation again. Although it would have eaten into my training time, I would not mind talking with her again; I had been lonely and isolated for all of my years of training after all.

But I will not slacken my pace one bit, not for such reasons.

Another day then, perhaps.

* * *

I continued my run as I entered the Docks. With the usual absence of pedestrians in this area I was able to pick up my pace. The constant ache in my muscles built up again as bright spots drifted across my vision, but I am heartened even as I struggled against the complaints of my body. It was the proof my exercise regime was paying off. I had gotten better, so much so that the pain was not even noticeable at times.

The neighborhood continued to be empty, especially this early in the morning. I ran past empty warehouses and abandoned businesses, a sign of Brockton Bay's decline as a shipping hub. From what little information I had overheard, this downturn was similar for most, if not all, of the major harbors of the world.

With an actual sea monster prowling the seas, businesses of the world were forced to shift the majority of their cargo transportation into the skies instead. There were still some traffic by sea, but the days of super tankers and mega container ships, otherwise known as eggs in a vulnerable basket, were history. And with the starvation of the sea-bound economy, harbors naturally began to rot.

I recalled a time when I had once hoped to have worked here, a younger self just out of school. Now, with almost all of the businesses here having moved away or gone bankrupt, it was a good thing I did not.

Occasionally, as I continued through the Docks, I would see the homeless and the jobless, people taking advantage of the freely available abandoned housing in the area. This early in the day, most of the gangsters would have retired for the 'night', and so this was the time the homeless would carefully poke their heads out in relative safety. Dressed in all of their filthy but precious possessions, they would go about their business, doing whatever it was they did.

They would greet me in various ways as I passed; my daily run in a place otherwise deserted having made me a local fixture for the mornings in the Docks. I would be polite when I could in turn, even as I ran without pause.

I would nod at an older woman dragging a pilfered shopping cart filled with cardboard boxes.

I would give a short greeting to a small group as they huddled around a barrel with a dying fire. They turned to look at me as they smiled and waved, each wearing a mismatch of thrown-away clothes.

I would wave at the hermit ever present in the shadow of the doorway, and he would respond as he always did, with the middle finger up into the air as he snarled.

I would nod at another pair, blocking off the sidewalk with a loud, angry discussion of some kind. The contrast between the participants were as different as night and day; the smaller and possibly younger of the two having dropped his overcoat in a pile around his feet, revealing a red jacket over a green shirt, and a pair of blue jeans. And the larger person was pushing the youth around in his armor of steel and technology, a bulky statement of strength lined in blue and... huh?

I slowed my pace as I approached. It was not often you see a cape in the middle of the Docks. And if he or she was even one step out of line…

I did not need to eavesdrop, as their conversation was just that loud. I suspect I would be able to hear most of it on the other side of the street from where all of us were. As I slowed my pace even further, I managed to piece together what was said.

Apparently the obviously-not-homeless-kid was being interrogated by the obviously-cape-in-some-form, something about a cape fight. The poor teenager was unable to get away even as he tried to do so time and again, due to two oversized armored fists grabbing onto both sides of his jacket. He was also unable to answer the cape's question satisfactory as he was bombarded by question after question from behind the helmet.

The hero really did not like "I don't know!" as an answer for some reason.

And yes, I had described the cape as a "hero". I had finally recognized the armor he was wearing. That silver and blue armor was the outfit of a local cape hero, one who was quite a big shot in cape affairs in Brockton Bay. I dug into my recollections; he was called Arm… something? Or was it 'Limb'? 'Master of Limbs'? Ah, right, I remember now.

Armsmaster.

I prepared to ignore the scene as I squeezed past the both of them from behind the hero, running on the little bits of sidewalk not occupied by the street-side interrogation. I was not going to stick my nose into a hero's affairs. Heroes would do what was right after all; it was all in the job description.

Next thing I knew, there was a scream. A girly scream. A panicked shout of high-pitched panic, too sharp, thin and high up in the octaves to have possibly came from a human. A sound that demanded immediate attention, even while giving anyone who heard it an immediate headache.

I snapped my head around even as I continued to run, back to the hero and his perp.

The not-a-homeless youth was struggling against Armsmaster as he tried to pull away with all his strength, still screaming and babbling something about "he" and "death" and "here", all in that girly pitch. Despite being covered by the back of the hero, I could still see as he punched, pulled, tugged, kicked and grabbed at the hero, who tried his best to fend off the hits even while holding onto his suspect. And just as suddenly, the youngster collapsed bodily onto the hero, a strength-less body with its strings cut off. His face came into view, foam flowing from his mouth as the white of his eyes showed.

As I rounded the nearby corner of my usual route, the cape on the side of good had him laid down onto the ground, with one of the gauntleted fingers pressed against the side of his helm, obviously using some sort of communication device to call for some assistance.

I shrugged, and continued my run. There was a hero on the scene after all, he will take care of the poor, poor kid.

But one thing was for sure.

I got to get me one of those jackets. It was holding up amazingly well from the abuse from the teenager, despite all that tugging and pulling against Armsmaster's grip.

* * *

"I'm home" I said to no one in particular. Walking into the apartment I lived in with no one else, I kicked off my shoes and shucked off my sweatshirt. I entered the bathroom as I threw the damp clothing in the direction of the empty basket for dirty clothing.

I retraced two steps backwards, and looked towards the basket.

A cockroach disappeared under the nearby washing machine.

Dammit. It was going to take forever to get that bug out of there.


	5. Arc 1: 5

**Snip #5**

"Damned things." I exclaimed.

I attacked once again. Pushing out with care and precision, I kept my palm flat and vertical. It slammed the enemy into the wall with what I had gauged as just enough strength.

I withdrew my arm.

The wall was unmarked.

More irritatingly, the mosquito flew away.

"Damned mosquitoes." I exclaimed again, slapping both of my palms together where I had last seen the mosquito. I brought my hands back to my face, wanting to verify the dead irritant with my own eyes.

I separated my palms. No dead mosquito.

Right before my eyes, a bloodsucker landed on top of my index finger and flew up. Another mosquito appeared, landing on the other index finger, before it too flew off.

"Damned bloodsuckers!" I roared, clenching my fists by the side. They were _MOCKING ME!_

"Shadaaup! It's one AM at night!" my neighbors shouted back, complete with the familiar knocking sounds of broom handles on ceilings, walls and floors.

Opps. "Sorry!" I called out.

"_SHUT! UP!_" they called back.

I believe it was time to exit left, to let tempers cool down…

* * *

As I started my nightly run, I pondered my situation again.

A week ago, I took apart my apartment trying to get at one cockroach. With any other pest I would have thought of it as excessive, but I had read somewhere that cockroaches could breed and multiply really fast, so I took no chances. It was an hour and a displaced washing machine, fridge and demolished washroom later when I finally cornered the slick-black bug and squashed it.

That was when I noticed the first mosquito, the first of many.

My room had been plagued with the little bloodsuckers ever since… "Plagued" might be too strong a word, but it fit. There would always be three or four of the little insects, buzzing up and down my room when it used to be insect-free before, keeping me up at night when I tried to sleep.

More importantly, I could not get rid of them. At all.

It was surprisingly hard to just get one of them killed despite my speed, for some reason. And even with three hundred and sixty two insect kills _(I counted. Oh believe me I counted)_, there were _STILL_ around three or four mosquitoes, buzzing about my room.

I had even used three bug-bombs on my apartment thus far. Collectively, all that did was to give my apartment a now permanent funny smell, kept me out of my home for four or so hours per use and was worth only a short reprieve measured averaging half an hour before the mosquitoes moved right back in.

I did not get it. Was this some insect karma at work? Did the cockroach curse me with all its strength at the moment of death, only for it be heard by insect God, who then proceeded to unleash an insect plague in my room? Was I just that unlucky to piss off an insect prophet?

I was still pondering this question while running on automatic when I suddenly, finally noticed my surroundings. Or lack of surroundings as it was. All I could see was an inky blackness, a rolling carpet of dark and darker which continued to move in front of my eyes. Sound was also gone, removed. I could maybe make out a muffled something or two in short bursts now and then, but otherwise there was nothing meaningful I could use.

If not for the floor under my feet and the feeling of gravity, I would not even know up from down.

I readied myself for a fight. After all, with the little I knew of cape culture, you _ASK_ before you used your powers on someone. Unless a cape was attacking another cape, at which all bets were off.

The darkness dissipated.

I saw three quadruped monsters. I saw the four figures astride on the monsters. They were about three hundred meters away, about a whole block… which should take me about a few seconds to cover.

I took my first step when I saw one of them waving arms every which way.

"FRIENDLIES! WE JUST WANT…" she shouted.

I took another step forward.

"WE JUST WANT TO TALK!" She shouted again, quite a bit higher pitched than her voice was earlier, and gesturing with her arms a lot faster. "SERIOUSLY FRIENDLY HERE! FRIENDLY TALK!" Another of them whistled, and the monstrous beasts took a few steps back.

I stopped.

They stopped.

There was silence between us for a good five minute or so as we eyed each other. The beasts would occasionally move, shifting their weight. Their riders? Not so much.

"So talk." I said with a raised voice, finally decided. Despite them appearing before me, they would not take the initiative after all. "Come here, and say what you want to say."

The people who had stopped my evening run looked at each other uncertainly, before the one who did the arm waving and another wearing a motorcycle helmet disembarked from their beasts.

"I swear to god, Tats, if this happens again, I'm going to hit you" I overheard from Helmet-head, who had a skull drawn onto his helmet and was also wearing an entire body's worth of dark leathers. "Hard."

"Sorry," this 'Tats' person replied. She was clad much differently, in a skin tight costume full of black and white. A domino mask served as a disguise for her face, and she was wearing a sash of some kind with a bulky item inside. "I took a guess and ran with… _oh fuck_"

"Excuse me?"

"He can hear us from here."

Helmet-head stopped his advance. Turning, he asked softly. "_How broken is he? Seriously?_"

"He can hear that too."

"Fuck."

"Yea, Fuck."

This delay was starting to piss me off.

"Grue? Doubletime. Now." 'Tats' said suddenly, before I even had to say anything. They practically ran the entire hundred meters towards me, and stopped just short of five meters away.

"So, hi." 'Tats' spoke up first this time. "I don't think you know, but you saved our lives a week ago."

I raised an eyebrow before I could catch myself.

"Yes you did." the one called 'Grue' replied. "The guy called 'Lung'? Big guy who can get bigger and make flames? A week ago? A single fist through the chest?"

I nodded my understanding as I remembered. "That third-rater? Yes, I remember."

"_Wha… Lung isn't some third…_" Grue started muttering under his breath before a sharp poke from 'Tats' onto his elbow cut him off. She continued. "He was going to attack us. So… in a roundabout way, you saved us. Thanks."

"No problem. But that does not explain who you are, why you didn't introduce yourselves before saying that, or why you attacked me with the shadow thing."

"Thought you might want to know up front why we stopped you. I'm Tattletale, and this is Grue. There's Bitch and Regent in the background. We're called the Undersiders."

"And sorry about the shadow. Tattletale here thought it was a good idea." Grue said, pointing behind him to the beasts and the other people. "You were running too fast for our dogs to catch up…"

"… but I was wrong. Sorry." Tattletale picked up from where Grue stopped. "Anyways, as a show of gratitude, this is yours. All yours, no strings attached."

She dug into and picked out a lunchbox from the sash. After making two fake throws to indicate her intention, she threw the lunchbox across the empty space between us. I caught it easily.

The box was slightly faded and scuffed, but I recognized the picture immediately. It was a picture of the Sentai-Rangers, the now deceased cape team from Kyushu.

I raised an eyebrow again as I looked back. This box was old, out of print even. But I did not understand how it…

"Open it." Tattletale prompted.

My curiosity getting to me, I did. And I saw money. Eight stacks of bills, tied with paper bands, each having words saying "$250" in permanent marker. That would mean…

"Two grand." Tattletale added up for me before I had the total in my head.

Two thousand dollars. _TWO_ thousand dollars. **Two thousand**… oh wait.

"What's the catch?" I asked back, trying to hide my internal glee.

"Just a showcase of goodwill." Grue said with sincerity. "And maybe a bit of incentive to count us among your friends when we meet each other in the street."

"That's all. No other tricks. Honest." Tattletale said, prompting Helmet-head to sharply turn his head towards her.

"_Aren't we going to…_"

"_Not now. I'll explain later._ Really. There might be other tricks, but there's no more, now. We decided to drop them. Honest."

For the third time, I raised my eyebrows at them, but not because of lack of facts this time. These 'Undersiders' were clearly planning something. Maybe they were not exactly clean themselves? Or maybe they were asking me not to bust their ass on something illegal? Or…

… then again, I could finally make rent for the month. And the last few months too! Yay!

"Ok. Glad to be of service." I said.

I could always accept the money for services already rendered. Any future evil acts these teenagers did in front of me would NOT be influenced by the money I had in my hands. Or so I repeated to myself maybe twice or trice in the short moments between the previous sentence and the next.

"Stay safe kids, and your 'Undersiders' group too."

Yup, that should be bombastic enough for goody good guys of goodness. Comic books really helped me here.

"Yea," Grue replied, sounding unsure of himself. "Yea, we'll do that."

"Sorry about the interruption." Tattletale added. "I…"

Whatever Tattletale wanted to say was lost as a densely packed cloud of insects of all shapes and sizes descended on all of us.


	6. Arc 1: 6

**Snip #6**

I turned my head to look at the false cloud in the moments before it reached me, and beyond me the two Undersider kids. A fast moving border of darkness almost like Grue's own, the cloud exploded from the dark shade in between the trees of Capitol Hill's parks. They buzzed as a faceless blanket as they covered the night sky, the combined noise of their flight droning out everything that could be heard, a silence brought about by too much sound.

After me, Tattletale was the next to notice. She barely had time to shout out a wordless warning as she cringed, turning together with the Grue kid to run towards her mounted allies. Her head start would not matter in the end though; the edge of the cloud would be upon us moments later. Unless I intervened.

Not that I actually _THOUGHT_ of doing so. Maybe I had been conditioned after an entire week of schooled torment, but my reaction to the bugs was almost automatic. I spun around, my right hand outstretched as I moved the limb quickly in a fast snap.

A gash appeared in the cloud of insects, a thick line forming in the crowded insects as if erased from the air itself. Behind the cloud, the trees rustled loudly, disturbed by what was left of the wind I generated.

If only I had found out about the effects of this move a week ago, or had at least used it for the first time outside of my apartment. But I digress.

Now facing the cloud, I planted both feet firmly onto the ground. Putting my right arm onto my left shoulder, I did the same movement as earlier. And again, and again, alternating my strokes with my left and right hands.

The large cloud lost its cohesion as large sections of insects were destroyed by my swipes. The shape warped, shifting as it crumbled and separated. Instead of the singular ominous blanket from before, I could now make out individual components, struggling to regroup. Flies, cockroaches and bees scattered each way… and mosquitoes too. Damn those things, mosquitoes in their thousands were also inside the mob of insects.

And the damage I had done... While the concrete running path I was standing on was carpeted by a thin layer of dead insects, I could easily see that the dead paled compared to those still remaining in the cloud. It was the best indicator that my slashes of wind had not really done much to the surprisingly resilient insect clouds, especially as I could see entire lines of reinforcements making their way out of the forests to replenish what was lost.

Time to try something else then.

I narrowed my eyes to slits as I focused inwards, both of my hands bent at the elbows by my sides. I breathed in, as calmly as I could yet as fast as I should.

And with great speed and strength, I clapped both my palms together shouting "Hah!"

I opened my eyes after the act, looked ahead of me, then all around.

The already reformed cloud of insects jerked, drifting backwards slowly. Hundreds of thousands _(I don't care to count that mess, you know. But that seemed like a reasonable ball-park figure)_ of bug eyes seemed to be looking right back at me, cringing at an attack that never came.

Oh~Kay. The clap did nothing.

I shall never use Manga as a reference guide to killer moves ever again. Not without trying it out for real first, at least.

But maybe if…

I separated my palms to the sides again as I closed my eyes, breathing in and out slowly, two, three times.

And once again, I clapped my palms together again, together with the mandatory shout.

The cloud of insects hovered in place, giving an unnatural stillness the shifting cloud in the aftermath of the second clap. A narrow layer there bent itself sideways, a very human-like expression of puzzlement.

I separated my palms to the sides yet again, taking my time to breath, slowly. This time, I kept my eyes wide open.

Which was when I noticed a change had occurred; all the insects that formed the cloud suddenly turned slightly, looking away from me and towards a spot behind my back. Whoever controlled these bugs must have realized their mistake; I hoped I had bought enough time for those Undersider kids to get away.

The next moment, the cloud flowed around me in a wave, speeding towards Tattletale and Grue, who were still on foot, but had by now almost reached their… transportation _(Those were dogs? Serious?)_. I could barely hear Tattletale's yelp of panic over the buzzing as she noticed the cloud of bugs switching targets. One of her mounted companions followed that up with a whistle… and one of the beasts chomped down on the girl. I saw another of the beasts repeating the process on Grue, before everything was suddenly covered by unnatural darkness.

The insect cloud did not stop for anything. Darkness ate up darkness as an obvious cape power rushed into another.

I watched, waiting.

About a minute later, Grue's dark cloud dissipated, leaving behind the more physical dark cloud. It hovered on the spot for a moment, drifting towards and away from me, before it too dispersed.

Now wasn't _THAT_ interesting.

"Especially the part where the cloud of insects had every opportunity and reason to attack you, but did not do so."

Yup, especially…

I blinked, and turned my head.

"I finally found you!" Armsmaster stood a few paces away, his halberd raised in his hand and pointed towards me. "If you would come with me for questioning?"

How a man armored up to his gills in clunky metal managed to sneak up on me, I may never know.

"It… It's not his fault!"

I turned my head again. And face palmed.

Ok, a Protectorate Hero being sneaky is fair game, but a teenaged Ward managing to sneak up on me with all those buzzing insects around her? I may really never know the answer to that.


	7. Arc 1: Interlude 1

**Interlude #1**

I stumbled. Almost blind with my sweat in my eyes, I nearly fell if not for a convenient railing. I clung onto that railing as if my life depended on it; I somehow _knew_, with all of my being, that if I fell now I would never get up.

I was out of breath, my lungs burning, yet every intake of air was an agony of cold, sharp air in the furnace of my body. At the same time, my body seemed like it was breaking apart. My arms and legs felt as if they had been stabbed multiple times up and down the lengths of my limbs. Pain and suffering, a punishment for foolish actions, for breaking limits beyond what was necessary and sane.

Yet, in this depth of torturous existence, I was not surprised that I was so very _happy_.

Today was only the first time I had completed a run beside my still-nameless running partner, from start to finish, and without a head start of any kind. Ever since I noticed his reoccurring presence in my morning runs, since I realized the insane pace he maintained constantly from start to finish, I had decided to match him pace for pace. It was a goal I had set for myself on a whimsy, yet a goal I had unerringly pushed myself towards.

I was so happy, because this was one of a few times I actually managed to set a near impossible goal, and fulfill it against all odds.

Something about this twigged in my thoughts, pointing out something about me and myself. But for now, I was just too tired and fulfilled to even think about what that conclusion was.

"Hey. Walk around. You don't want to stand still after a short run." My mystery pace setter advised me, his face hidden in the shadows of the hood of his gray sweatshirt.

I think those were also the first words he spoke to me, ever. I would have startled, if there were any strength left to move my body with. I would have smiled, if my mouth was not so busily sucking in breath after blessed breath. Every muscle, every joint of my body seemed united in their current purpose to broadcast pain, radiate weakness.

Still, I managed to move somehow. And immediately after, I found out my legs were not fully up to the task. Compensating with the strength of my equally useless arms, I took a small step along the railing, and then another.

I looked at the stranger, a person who had occupied my thoughts lately. It was two months ago, almost to the day, that I had first met him. He had simply breezed by in his astounding running speed back then, making a mockery of my failing running efforts in just a few mere seconds. Ever since, I had kept an eye out for him.

If I was the slightest bit honest with myself, I initially did so in childish, petty anger. That was soon replaced by depression and inadequacy, futility and denial, as I found out just how different we were on our morning runs. Jealousy followed, as well as a simmering cold anger at the unfairness of the world.

But then a thought occurred to me, a thought which grew and grew; I had cape powers. The power to control bugs, a weak power. But he probably had none of that. He had less than me, yet I felt he was somehow the better.

Why?

I had not found the answer, yet. But I felt as if, if I followed him and got to understand, I might find out.

I might find out something else too, as once again I tried to peer into the shadows of his hood. He was probably Asian judging from the color of his hands, and he had a sharp clean shaven chin, but that was all I knew. My image of what I dreamt he could look like popped up in my mind, a construction fuelled by sweet dreams and too much foreign-imported…

That was when he flipped his cowl back.

My earlier illusion shattered into itty little bits as I stumbled, hard. The crook of my arm managed to catch the handlebar of the railing beside me, but my lower half still ended up mostly on the floor.

I looked up again, as if I by looking again I could rewrite what I saw earlier.

An egg-shaped face looked back at me, the sharp eyes of an Asian descent below stern, sharp brows. He was young, but was definitely not around my age bracket, maybe somewhere around twenty-something?

And he was completely bald.

_Serves me right._ I berated myself as the splinters of my imagination shattered even more. _Way to go with the childish, girlish, high bar you'd set for him, self._

Although… there _was_ something about the bald look…

**_GAH! BEGONE, FOUL THOUGHTS!_**

_Why not? He **is** cute…_

_Oh no! I did **not** just think that!_

I spent so much time in the mind-numbing internal cringe, I did not know how much time had passed by the time I broke out of. All I knew was that I had walked back and forth quite a number of times along the railing, and by then he was already on the floor, doing pushups.

Had I offended him? I was about to apologize, but I did not want to interrupt him in the middle of his exercise. It would be rude, but if I did not say anything now… still… but… if… maybe… _oh, Seriously Taylor Hebert, **say something**_!

"You're a running machine, you know?"

Great. Just…

"Thank you." He replied. I did not think there was any anger in his voice. Nor annoyance, mockery, or anything negative in any way.

Oh. That worked.

Seizing on that bit of straw as I struggled from drowning conversationally, I continued, "How far is your run by the way? At this pace, it shouldn't be much further than the Docks?"

That was my _NEXT_ goal: He obviously started somewhere before my running route, and ended after. I would now try to match him from start to finish. _HIS_ start to…

"I start and stop at Capitol Hill." The answer drifted up from below.

What? That's… that's across town! He sprints across town every day, with that pace? Twice? That… that's insane! How could I ever match such an accomplishment?

All I could think of the next five minutes was how small I felt.

Eventually, I came to a single conclusion: Maybe I should try the hero outing I had planned earlier instead. It really did seem like an easier task to accomplish than just simply running right about now…

* * *

I stared down from where I was, in the shadows of an edge of the building over the scene. The street below had gone quiet; the only sounds the groaning of the wounded unconscious. Yet, I did not move from the safe perch where I hid. I was simply too surprised to do anything.

Even after the event had happened right in front of my eyes, I still found myself doubting what I saw.

Simon Tama, my unofficial running mate for two months, speedster extraordinaire but otherwise an unassuming person, a kind bald man who was gentlemanly and polite to a fault, _Just Took Out **LUNG**_.

My mind was on repeat. I probably would have stayed there longer than was safe… But luckily for me, someone slammed the stop button for me when he stood up, looked around, had a sudden expression change into outright horror and ran away with both arms up in the air, screaming all the way.

Woah! I knew it! _I knew it_! Simon Tama had _powers_!

He was probably Velocity! That would explain his running speed. Except it was well known Velocity could not affect the world while he was speed-boosted. It was the only reason why he had not singlehandedly cleaned up Brockton Bay by now. So, no. Mr Tama could not possibly be Velocity.

Armsmaster? Maybe, but that punch… was it possible with a Tinker device? Wait, no. Armsmaster had a beard… unless it was a false beard, to conceal his true identity? But… Maybe I should shelve this.

Assault? PHO vs threads had extensively discussed his powers, and the general consensus was that he could punch hard enough… but that usually needed someone to hit him first. So, no.

Triumph? Sonics. No.

A villain? NO, No, no, no, no. Seriously, no. There was no way Simon Tama could be a villain.

My options depleted, I went back to thinking about the only 'maybe' on the list, Armsmaster. It even fit to a degree; despite being a Tinker, Armsmaster is also a highly trained combatant without the common weakness of Tinkers, a skilled fighter even without his tools. Official PRT press releases even said he trained just as much as he Tinkered.

Maybe his insane runs across town were part of his training? And if he had a Tinker device on his hand when he punched? Oh, and maybe he ran away simply to protect his civilian persona? Maybe…

Gravel crunched behind me. I turned sharply around, even as the person together with me on the rooftop said, "Hey."

"Are you going to fight me?" The hero standing on the same roof I was on said again. Despite the haze of my panic, I could still recognize the armor he wore, the blue lines on the edges of silver armor plates.

Armsmaster.

But that was impossible! If I was correct in my assumptions, he just ran past me… or did he?

Then again, Tinker. He probably just popped himself into a phone booth somewhere and came out fully armored five seconds later.

His uncovered mouth opened to say something else, but he stopped. He leaned forward instead. "Are you all right? What did you see?"

"I… I…" That was all I could manage.

_Maybe not_, I thought to myself as I got an up-close view of Armsmaster's armored physique, especially the chiseled bearded square jaw sticking out from the bottom of his half-helmet.

* * *

I was on a bus, in the attire I usually wore for school. It was, however not the usual bus I took in the mornings. It was a suburbs route, a looping path travelling along the circumference of town.

I did not regret skipping school one bit. It actually felt better, to be out from under the terrible trio's thumbs.

Nor did I regret bugging Mr Tama _(quite literally)_ earlier today. It was an act born from a desperate last attempt, after failing to keep up with the pace I managed yesterday. But I had reasons, at least. I had a late night _(so did Mr Tama!)_, and I was exhausted from yesterday _(he fought Lung!)_. And… _(shaddup, internal justifications! Do you know how pathetic you sounded?)_…

Yea, my excuses sounded pathetic even to myself _(Great. Just great. What did I just do to myself?)_.

The bus lurched into motion once more, freed of the red light of the intersection. I reached out with my powers once again, searching for a familiar feeling. A block later, I finally got the sense of a familiar bug, just in time it seems as it cut out in death. I hijacked four mosquitos to mark the spot as I smiled to myself.

Let's see what kind of cape you are, Mr Simon Tama.

* * *

An excellent independent hero, as it turned out.

I had observed Mr Tama for a week now. He apparently took two runs per day; the first I knew of in the mornings, and another run in the middle of the night. A week of uninterrupted daily three am runs.

And despite the lack of a costume, he would charge though the upscale haunts of the E88, blaze through the Docks of the AZN Bad Boys, as well as covering the small rotten spots in between controlled by the Merchants. He was out kicking ass and taking names, jumping all of the gangsters without much of a preamble other than a single "Hey!" or "Excuse me!"

He had not run into a single powered Villain thus far, but with the mountain of unpowered villains he left behind him there was no doubt of his allegiance to the side of good. But he appeared to be working alone. There were no visits to any known PRT or Protectorate stations, no talks with the local police forces. The sum total of his interaction with **anyone** at all was a trip to the supermarket.

There was no telling when he would be set upon by villains wanting payback for his nightly activities, and working alone he would have no support. No backup. Nobody to come to help.

Except me, Mr Tama's self-appointed tail and backup.

I let out a breath, rubbing my hands in the cool hours of the morning, reviewing what I knew of his usual routes. I would follow discreetly behind him again when he left the apartment, keeping up with him only by taking a much smaller circle through Brockton Bay on my bicycle. Still, Mr Tama's amazing running speeds would mean blind spots here and there as I struggled to keep up, but I figured nobody would attempt to ambush a cape in the areas around the Broadwalk anyways, not with the hired security guards on the prowl.

They would be more likely to attack him in the middle of somewhat lawless areas such as the Docks, or ambush him in hidden spots just like right here in the middle of Capitol Hill Park. Yup, just like so, mounted on four monsters while clouding him in darkness…

I jolted. _They ARE ambushing him here in Capitol Hill Park!_

I cursed myself for my inattentiveness as I abandoned my bicycle and raced forward from my vantage point, gathering the bugs in the park into a massed cloud. In the distance, barely seen through the trees, I could just dimly make out two of the villains charging towards Mr Tama, obviously having dismissed the cloud of darkness surrounding him as the three monsters hung back. My path took me out of sight then, running down a set of stairs from the balcony I had been waiting on.

I checked my gathered bugs when I reached the bottom of the lengthy stairs. It was large, but there were too few venomous insects to my tastes. Still, there was no time. Mr Tama had won against Lung, but that may or may not be a sucker punch, and he was being attacked by at least five beings with powers! I had to help, and now!

I sent forth my bugs in a wave of destruction.

A large hole appeared in the bugs almost immediately.

I blinked, as more slashes appeared in the cloud. Someone was actively destroying the bugs in large masses, using waves of wind. I cycled through my recollection of PHO threads, trying to identify the power…

… and I got it. StormTiger of the E88. Mr Tama was being attacked by the E88 capes!

Taking out the phone I was given, I pressed the button sequence that had been pointed out to me, and immediately re-pocketed it. Now, all I had to do is to keep Mr Tama safe, until backup for the backup arrives. Until Armsmaster and his Protectorate arrives.

I did not like to do so, but I doubt I could provide much assistance against one of the largest Villain groups in Brockton Bay.

I finally ran into a spot where I could view the situation. Backing my bugs off a bit as I reached a corner I could peek around. I could see the three beasts nearby, and two retreating figures a bit further than them, running as fast as they could.

Wait, a… The person attacking was not… Those 'villains' were not who…

Never mind, there was a way of salvaging the night. There were still two villains on foot, the capture of at least one of them would…

* * *

My jaw dropped.

_Way to go, Taylor!_ I thought as I saw Armsmaster pointing his trademark weapon at Mr Tama. _Why do I always make things worse!?_

I stepped out, one thought repeating again and again in my mind.

Got to fix this.


	8. Arc 2: The Boss & Loose Cannons 7

**Arc 2: * The Boss and his Loose Cannon conversation scene ***  
**Snip #7**

So there we were. The three of us facing each other in the middle of Capitol Hill Park, a Hero, a Ward and myself. We looked at each other on top of a battleground of a recently ended cape fight, in the middle of the night.

It seems another fight was brewing. One fought… with lots and lots and lots of shouting.

"It's really not his fault!" The Ward repeated her words, setting up the stage.

"Stay out of this, Miss." The Hero lit the fuse. "Do not interfere with Protectorate business."

"I didn't call you here to point weapons at him!"

"Calling this in was good, and for that you have my thanks. But now that I'm here you should leave this to the professionals who'd been doing this for years. By your own admission, you have only been running around being a cape for a week."

"Don't dismiss me just like that." There was a hint of anger in the younger's voice. "And I've been helping, not 'running around…"

"Oh?" The sharp spike at the end of the axe-like weapon shifted away from me, pointed towards the shifting cloud surrounding the teen. "Tell me, by the looks of that cloud, you control insects? You are responsible for the swarm from earlier?"

"Yes and yes... what has that got to do with…"

"That attack you did earlier, it shows just how inexperienced you are by ANY standard."

"What!?"

"You were using your swarm to attack? To bite? To sting? To blind and panic?"

"Yes! That was the idea."

"Why the attention grabbing swarm? Your insects can only really work as a threat when they _reach_ your targets, not before. Why not sneak them in before swarm them from close range? Or to creep in a few attack insects from behind when their attention was on the main swarm? Or attack from the skies? Why not split it into five different swarms attacking from all directions?"

"I... I was… I was distracting them from…"

"And your insects, they are venomous, right? What would happen if your victims had a lethal dose of insect venom? What are you going to do if you accidentally…"

"I have that covered. I have some EpiPens here…"

"Good thinking. Moving on… Why attack from that direction too? Why not go in from the sides, drive a wedge between the attackers and the protected? Why didn't you bypass your assignee much earlier? By attacking from behind, you risk driving your own clueless VIP into the villain's hands, haven't you thought of that?"

"But… I…"

"And speaking of clueless, why not tell your protectee about you in the first place? By his actions, he obviously didn't know about you. You actually think you're going to charge in and save the day? **That** is the common plot of brain-dead _fiction_. **This** is real life. You don't do that, because it gets people killed. People _other than you_"

"A~a~at least I _HELPED_! Which was much better than what you did! You were hiding behind a bush!"

Armsmaster straightened, bristling at the remark by the looks of it.

"There is a difference between hiding and accessing the situation. You haven't talked to him." The silver-clad hero pointed a finger at me. "Have you even considered that he might actually be a hostile?"

"NO! There is no way…"

"Hrrump. Your inexperience is showing…"

"And you're a cold, heartlessness person. You would rather they fight before you jump in, clean up the whole mess and save the day? Who was talking about real life again?"

"No. This is…" a sigh escaped from Armsmaster's lips. "This is not heartlessness. This is just simple strategy."

"Really?" was the sarcastic rejoinder from the Ward.

The Halberd dipped towards the ground as Armsmaster released a hand from the shaft. He raised the free hand, poking two fingers behind his visor and, I presumed, rubbed the bridge of his nose. "This is exactly why I want you in the Wards program. You're not trained in cape strategy and tactics. This is **exactly** the sort of things they teach to clueless new heroes. The things needed to help you, keep you alive , keep other people alive, stop you from making mistakes and help you develop in time."

I looked at the bug girl, her swarm of flying insects orbiting her in a raging swarm. She wasn't a Ward?

"Let me jog your memory; I already told you, I'm not interested."

"Why?"

"My reasons are my own."

"No reason is worth missing a chance to in gaining vital..."

"Oh, now you know better than me without knowing anything about me?"

"There are a lot of gangs in Brockton Bay. I can tell you about the survival statistics of solo capes..."

"I don't care. I just said I don't want to join the Wards. I just don't want to… to…"

"To what?"

"None. Of. Your. Business."

It was as if I was forgotten here, standing between the two squabbling parahumans. I thought I might as well add my two cents, to stop them from squabbling. "Erm, hello?"

They spoke in unison, words overlapping each other.

"Shut up! I'm trying to help you over here."

"Stay out of this. I'll deal with you once I correct this child's misconception."

"Child? Misconception?"

"A parahuman teenager below the age of 18 is a child, and should be in the Wards, no exceptions."

"Says you."

"Why are you so stubborn? It is for your benefit!"

"Stubborn? You're one to talk! How about Pigheaded as a word? You probably don't even need that helmet, your skull's so thick you can block bullets with it!"

"And you're a mule-headed two-legged disaster about to get yourself killed!"

"Better a walking disaster than a person willing to stand by instead of help!"

"And you're being obtuse! You actually think you know more about…"

"You're both right, you know?"

The two squabbling capes, as one, looked at me again for the second time that night.

"It's true." I continued. "You're both are actually remarkably similar to each other."

As if synchronized, they looked back at each other. And back at me again. And back at each other. It was silent for a while, the only other movement that of Armsmaster's uncovered mouth, opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Not-a-Ward-girl began to laugh, loudly.

Armsmaster joined in.

The world was clearly going mad. Or maybe it was struck sane.

"Look, do you still want to talk to me?" I said, getting a bit annoyed at the whole argument bystander thing, and the delay it represented. "I still have to go on my nightly run."

"Yes." Armsmaster said, now smiling broadly as he shouldered his Halberd. "I still would like you to come with me to the Protectorate HQ."

"Ok."

"You should really accept. True, it is not an arrest, but… wait, what did you say?"

"Ok. What about?"

"Oh. Well. There are questions about your recent activities that the Protectorate would like to ask."

"What, about him running straight through hordes and hordes of gangsters, as a hero should?" Bug girl interrupted.

"You know what he did?" the armored visor turned towards the cloud of bugs, not picking up the bait in her words. She nodded. "Good, you can plead for him then, Miss…"

"I do not have a cape name yet." She replied, seemingly shrinking inwards.

There was a sigh, before he turned to me. "And you?"

The bug girl straightened suddenly as if remembering something, but I spoke before she could do anything. "Tama." I answered. "Simon Tama, at your service."

"… oh." The mouth below the visor replied, the smile somehow struck away by my answer.


	9. Arc 2: 8

**Snip #8**

Beside me, the still unnamed bug girl stared.

Armsmaster stared back.

They were not talking to each other as they glared across the cabin, their posture uneasy if not outright confrontational.

Well, at least they were not squabbling. The noise helped.

If there were two good things to be said about the PRT, they were the quality of their vehicles and their speed of response. A few minutes ago, barely a moment after the suddenly grumpy Armsmaster talked with whomever it was through his helm, a bright spotlight announced the arrival of our ride as a black unmarked helicopter descended out of the sky.

I had never quite realized just how windy it was under a helicopter, nor how loud it was inside one of those machines even with the doors closed. And looking down from the skies I was struck by how the world was rendered small and toy-like, places I knew becoming mere smudges and shapes on the ground.

All in all, the helicopter ride was an interesting experience, but the novelty of sightseeing from the sky wore off pretty quickly.

The still nameless teenager was growling behind her mask. She suddenly stopped, her head shifting sideways, slightly towards me. Armsmaster followed the look, and then in a speed that could only be called deliberate, leaned back onto the walls of the compartment.

I looked back out of the window again. Best not to get involved with the staring match behind me.

The Bay which Brockton was named for rushed by below the helicopter, the waves in the darkness only visible through reflections from distant light sources… which were getting brighter. I turned my head towards the source, and beheld a sight of wonder.

Ever since I decided to start running in the middle of the night, the Protectorate East North East's headquarters was a landmark I had grown to like. But the sight of the shining self-lit jewel from the Broadwalk in the distant night sky paled in comparison to what I was seeing now. Formally a flying oil rig, it had been stripped, rebuilt, armored, retasked and rebranded over the years to the point where it no longer looked anything like the original structure.

Now, the Protectorate HQ looked like a flying white pentagon of marble. Unblemished white slabs of sloping armor protected the facilities within, broken only by bands of windows concentrated towards the bottom. Huge spotlights and colored lighting made sure no inch of the white walls were unlit, arranged so as to project the Protectorate symbol five stories high on the side facing the city. Gently undulating purple waves could be seen floating downwards in the empty air below, the work of whatever kept the bastion aloft.

Completing the 'futuristic impenetrable fortress' look, square platforms were built into the sloping outer armor layer walls of the HQ. Nested near the top, it had shaped railings designed to look like modern battlements from afar. Some bristling with antennas and dishes, arrays of forests of communication equipment packed into each other, while others contained the boxy exotic weapons protecting the fortress. Our helicopter landed on the platform set aside as a vehicle pad, as spotlights from above shone down on us, making it appear as if the sun had risen at night.

This. This was what a proper Heroic Heroes Headquarters should look like.

If I ever trained well enough to become a hero, _THIS_ was the sort of place I want to be based in.

A PRT passenger who had been on the helicopter was the first to step out of the door he opened. Waving an arm, he guided us to a lift, which he opened by waving what appeared to be a mobile phone over a panel of some kind. We entered, Armsmaster bringing up the rear, and the doors closed.

* * *

I sat in the office, flanked by the two capes standing on opposite sides of the large table I was facing. And no, those two were not Armsmaster and the still no-name girl. He had led the girl who really needed a name to another room, but before he entered, he had turned towards me one last time, grabbing me in the arm.

I looked at him. He stood there, unmoving. I would think he was staring back, but the visor made it uncertain.

The 'for gods sake, get a name already' girl cleared her throat impatiently.

Armsmaster got the hint. "Consider what will be asked, carefully. With how bad things are, the Protectorate needs any heroes they can get, and I believe you are one of them.

"Please. Don't stand and watch. Don't fall to crime. We can do more good together than we can alone." And with that, he gave me a brisk nod and closed the door almost onto my face. The PRT trooper was left to show me the way onwards.

I withdrew myself back from my recollections, and to the two heroes flanking me; One wore a streamlined suit of body armor, with a visor distinctly different from Armsmaster's own. The other looked like a walking circuit board. A very distinctively female circuit board.

I recognized the two heroes pretty much immediately.

Assault and Battery.

_(Anyone who was a Brockton Bay native cannot help but recognize the duo, given the amount of exposure the PRT had done for the local Protectorate's heroes. But I digress.)_

These two was not exactly at the top of the local Protectorate, but it would not surprise anyone if they took over; they were celebrated cape veterans who had been in the game for a while.

Nice pun, by the way. Although… I wondered how they managed to get a description of a crime past PR. Maybe…

I was interrupted in my thoughts by the opening of the door behind me.

A very familiar, very fat lady waddled past me, displacing Battery from her spot beside me as she did so.

She took her time orbiting her desk, and plonked herself into her seat.

This. This was the last thing I would think of for a proper Heroic Heroes Headquarters.

Management.

Director Piggot stared at me. I looked back.

I was getting feelings of déjà vu here.


	10. Arc 2: 9

**Snip #9**

"So here we are." The Director spoke up, her voice flat and flavorless as she placed a folder she had been holding onto the table. "Simon Tama."

"Here." I said, raising a hand.

She ignored me, instead choosing to look downwards as she opened the folder and extracting from it a few pieces of paper. Arranging what appeared to be reports and photographs into some cryptic pattern on her desk took a moment, and once it was to her satisfaction she looked up.

"Mr. Simon Tama." The Director said with the same flat voice, the tone clearly insincere considering the smile of absolutely childish glee appearing on her face, neatly hidden behind steepled fingers.

"That's me."

"Jog my memory a little. We have met before, correct? Two years ago, almost to the day?"

"Well, I don't know about the day..."

"I seem to recall a conversation we had. About superpowers and trigger events?"

I raised an eyebrow. I tried to recall the previous meeting as well as I could, a moment in time made fuzzy by the two years in between.

"Yeah. I think so."

"You were quite adamant you did not have any powers then, I believe. That you were not a cape."

"Yup."

"What about now? Are you a cape?" She asked, looking intently at me.

Well, I thought it best to answer truthfully, given the tone of her voice and the direction of her questions.

"No, Madam Director. I don't think I'm a cape."

"Really?" The reply came back with a bit more emotion than before, as the Director began to stare at me with narrowed eyes.

I could not think of anything to say other than, "Nope. Not a cape. For starters, I don't even have a costume. And…"

"There's no way you're that dense, Mr. Simon Tama." The fat lady said with words now filled with barely restrained emotion. "You're lying. You **have** triggered. You have powers. And you have been keeping it from us."

"I don't know what you're thinking, but I definitely don't have powers."

Whatever answer Piggot wanted from me, I do not think this was it. I could also feel the two capes beside me looking at each other out of the corner of my eyes at my answer.

"You really don't think you have powers." The emotion behind her words was noticeable now. Flat out disbelief, with a tinge of anger.

"Well, yes."

"Really." She asked, her voice returning to the flat monotone from earlier.

"Really. Duh."

"Then would you care to explain this?"

She flipped one of the papers around and pushed it forward. I leaned forward with my arm out, but she snatched it from my reach before I got a hold of it.

She started reading the contents, the flat monotone of simple recital similar to the conversational tone from earlier. "Two hundred and one E88 members, Thirty three Merchants and affiliated hanger-ons, A hundred and twenty six ABB members, and thirty nine assorted others."

"Excuse me?" I asked. "What's that?"

"That is a list of nearly four hundred gang members, gophers, riff-raff and assorted hanger-ons of villains who had been arrested or given themselves up to clinics and hospitals in the hours between two to four AM, over the past week."

There was a silence in the air as the news sunk in.

I raised a hand.

"What has that got to do with this meeting?" I asked.

"Every single one of them said a bald person in a gray hoodie and yellow sweatpants had taken them down. The very same clothing you are wearing right now." Piggot declared with finality.

"I…"

"And don't think for a moment you can deny that." Piggot continued. "We know it was you. And if that was not enough, I was just informed that Armsmaster has a reliable witness who can say it was you doing this."

I lowered my hands as I thought on this new information. They weren't kids out for a little bit of nocturnal fun? No wonder those guys on the street were _THAT_ hostile when I approached them.

I thought on it for a bit more.

And I raised my hand again.

"What has that got to do with me having powers?" I asked.

"What?" Piggot exclaimed, whatever composure she had crumbling. The emotions behind Piggot's words were flipped from before as she replied; it was now flat out anger, with a tinge of disbelief.

Still, I bulled onwards. "I did go through a hard training regime, just so I can take down parahumans, without powers. I'm surprised I took down that many bad people, but honestly? Not quite that surprised."

"Training… regime?!" That mix of disbelief and anger was back.

"You know, I can even teach you how I did it. You guys just might…"

The slamming palms on the table startled me. Unfortunately, the intimidation effect, or at least I thought it was intimidation, was somewhat lost as the overly fat lady staggered onto her feet. She leaned forward over her desk, looking down onto the lone member of her captive audience.

"Stop _**FUCKING**_ with me, Simon!"

"I'm not. Honest." I even smiled to get my point across… but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

I don't think that's a healthy shade for a person's face to have, honestly.

"You're telling me, to my face, that one of the highest rated brutes in the city doesn't even think he has powers?"

"What's a brute? Who's that 'he' you're talking about?"

Shaking with anger, she shouted, "You… you…"

I think it was too much for her, as she bodily slumped forward onto her desk.

She really should take anger management classes or something.

* * *

It took five minutes of intervention by Assault, whispering calm words into Piggot's ear and easing her back onto her seat before the meeting could continue… or was she Battery? They were always introduced together, so I could not tell which was which.

Anyway, she was the one with circuitry on her costume.

The restarting of the meeting did not seem to be starting off well, with how Piggot shoved Assault's concerned hand aside as she stared daggers at me.

"Mr. Tama, you just said you…"

"Director Piggot?" Assault interrupted, her concern written on her face. "I don't think we should continue. Your health…"

"Go back. Stand there." Piggot's voice was fierce, demanding. "This meeting **will** continue."

Without waiting for the hero's eventual compliance Piggot continued through clenched teeth, "You have a… training regime. An actual, honest to god, training plan. One that's somehow good enough to prepare a person against parahumans?!"

"Yup" I replied.

"This, this I have to hear. Go on."

"OK, here I go. The deciding factor of the success of this hard training plan is if you can see it through to the end, without any breaks in between. There were several times I almost gave up, but by perseverance alone, I have become… unexpectedly strong."

There was silence in the room. A deep silence. I had their full, undivided attention, although it would help if Piggot wasn't trying to stare a hole into me.

I stood up, my pose as straight as I could make it. This secret to my plan must be given with the dignity it deserved. With the sternest voice I could muster, I shouted.

"One hundred push-ups, one hundred sit-ups, one hundred squats and a ten kilometers run. _Every **Single Day**_!

"At first, it'll be tough as hell, and you will start thinking that taking a day off isn't a big deal. I am ashamed to say I did, early on. **Don't**. In order to become a strong hero-to-be, I didn't stop even when my whole body was in pain, and I was spitting blood. Even when my legs felt heavy and refused to move, I kept on doing squats. Even when my arms started making strange cracking sounds, I continued doing push-ups."

I looked around. Good, they were astonished, their mouths wide open in shock… Piggot was even shaking in excitement at the obvious value of this truth, looking like she was about to jump onto her feet once again, erupting into thanks. The key to success was such a simple thing to grasp after all, right there under the nose of everyone, but it was also such a hard thing to understand and obtain.

"And after one and a half years of training, I noticed two changes about myself."

And now, for the dramatic finish.

"I had lost all my hair."

Not that one. I had to say that because, you know, full disclosure and all. They had to know what they were about to get into... but I digress.

The _OTHER_ clincher.

"And I had become strong."

There was a deep silence in the room once more. You could hear pins dropping from the next room. I know I could hear the footsteps from outside at the least.

"In short, train so hard that you think you'll die or lose your mind. That is the only way there is..."

Battery choked.

I restarted, "…the only there is to be…"

Battery coughed. And choked. And coughed some more.

"…strong." I finished as I turned to look at him. Was he all right?

No… Yes, he was all right. No, he was not actually coughing.

With one hand over his face, Battery was struggling to keep his laughter from escaping. And he was failing badly. Large peals of laughter rang out all over the room as he surrendered to involuntary laughter and collapsed onto a nearby wall.

"Assault?" a loud suppressed whisper escaped out of the mouth of his partner. After a short aside glance at the director, she continued whispering, "Get yourself together, Assault."

Wait, 'Assault'? Oops, I mixed up the partners.

The armored hero did not stop his laughter despite the warning, struggling from lack of breath with tears appearing from below his helmet, even as he continued to weakly lean against the wall.

"Assault, get yourself under control!" the other cape hissed as she moved across the room.

"He, is he for *snort* for real? Oh my… my sides…"

"Are we quite done here?" A frosty sentence cut off the cape.

I turned my attention back to the front. Piggot was… apocalyptic would be a good word. She was glaring at me yet again with a frown that did not seem to be possible on a human face, and that unhealthy hue had returned to her skin. Her hands were shaking so much they were performing a drum roll on her desk.

"Erm… yes?" I said.

"Then **GET THE _FUCK_ OUT OF _MY OFFICE __YOU FUCKING FUCK_!**"

I exited the office as fast as I could, chased by the laughter from Assault as well as language not out of place from the proverbial sailor from the Pig. Slamming the door bought some reprieve, although the swearing was so loud I could still clearly hear the screeching from beyond the door.

I gave the PRT staff outside the office a weak smile, even as I internally fumed.

Well, excuse me! I told you my life secret, and this is how you treat me?


	11. Arc 2: 10

**Snip #10**

I… did not know what to do.

And no one told me what to do.

So I did what I most people in my situation would do: I waited outside the door of the Pig's office. The rest of the paper pushers in the open concept office tried their best to look like they were ignoring my presence, although I saw a worried glance or two my way. They seemed to be trying to ignore the continuous stream of swearing from the room I just left as well.

Thankfully for the secretaries and clerks in the open office, it was swearing only in context of the anger leaking out; I could not make out individual words through the closed door. Well, I can hardly fault them for installing some soundproofing, but would it kill the Protectorate's budget to use something better? This was, after all, the doorway to one of the biggest shots of the Protectorate HQ. Who knows what kinds of powered strangers or controllers were out here, spying on the heroes? They even had a Tinker on call for these sorts of things after all.

Minutes passed by as I amused myself by trying to figure out what was being said within the office. Eventually, Piggot either ran out of creative ways to say variants of "sexual congress with so and so", or she got bored at repeating herself. The sounds from within were still as loud as before, but it became more ordered, more purposeful somehow. The unknown sentence ended on a long pause, followed by a single stern word, a sound suspiciously similar to a dismissal.

Pre-warned, I was two steps out of the way when the doorway to the Pig's office opened yet again. Battery walked out, her costume's circuitry glowing much brighter than before. Surprisingly, her partner did not follow her out as she closed the door softly behind her. Judging from the expression on her face as she looked at me, she seemed kinda pissed.

I guess being in the middle of five minutes of one's immediate superior swearing buckets would sour just about anyone's mood.

Wordlessly, she gestured for me to follow her. Grabbing my lunch box from the desk of a surprised clerk, I followed her as we walked towards the exit with her in the lead.

Behind us, the remaining occupants of Piggot's office resumed talking. Loudly.

* * *

Battery led me through carpeted corridors adorned with potted plants, a grandiose lift, more richly decorated corridors, a heavily barred guard station, a bare-bones metal corridor with hand railings and colored strips along the walls as its only decoration, a large, bare-bones cargo lift, and lastly, you guessed it, more bare-bones corridors. We ended up in front of two simple slabs of metal only identifiable as doors by the handles and bright yellow warnings of how they swung out painted onto the floor.

"Where are we?" I looked around as I asked.

Just as wordlessly as before, Battery retrieved her phone from her belt and tapped it on one of the countless unobtrusive metal pads we had passed. Just like the other metal pads from before, there was a beep as brightly lit words appeared in the metal surface topped by a rotating Protectorate sigil. The symbol barely completed two rotations before everything being displayed disappeared, replaced by a large green tick mark.

In response to the successful security check, the two doors began to swing outwards by themselves, to reveal…

… a gym.

Except for the larger than life posters of the Protectorate's 'who's who' hanging on the walls, it was similar in look and feel to a high school gym: a large clear area padded with mats in the middle, rows of different exercise and weight machines on the side, the basketball court made out of only two hoops and a bunch of painted lines on the floor, and the double doors which I bet would lead to storerooms stacked full of equipment.

To say I was a bit disappointed would be an understatement. I was expecting… something. Not this. To be fair, it did seem to have some kind of exotic heavy machinery on one side. The gaggle of lab coats in one corner of the room was also not what anyone would usually see in a high school gym.

While I was day-dreaming my idea of what could have been, a 'danger room' with light guns, flying targets and what-not, Battery was already most of the way across the gym, headed towards the squabble of obvious scientists. I followed, picking my pace a bit to get there at the same time she did.

We arrived in front of a person standing at the head of that blustering white-clad group, an aged man full of white hair on his head, wrinkles on his face and wisdom in his eyes. He looked politely towards me, but I could still see him examining me carefully, his eyes sharp and speculative, as he rubbed his clean leathery chin in one hand.

Self-consciously, I looked at myself. Nothing seemed out of place. What was he so interested in?

"Mr. Tama." Battery gestured towards the surprised scientist. "Meet Dr. Christopher, assistant head of the Protectorate's powers research think tank. Dr. Christopher, Mr. Tama."

"Ah. Well, I have been looking forward to meeting you Mr. Simon. You're the reason why I am temporarily posted here." The researcher reached forward with his right hand, politely offering a handshake. I politely humored him. "I look forward to showing you around the facilities we have in the East North East."

"I'll leave you to your powers testing then." Battery said, already turning around to leave. The Doctor I was introduced to had also turned around to speak to his fellows, saying something about "…start with some treadmill tests…"

What? Powers testing?

"There's no need to test for powers." I found myself saying. "I don't have any."

Immediately and abruptly, two heads turned around to face back at me once more. The good Doctor reacted to the news with an openly astonished look, while something that sounded suspiciously like 'Oh shit' escaped from Battery's lips.

"Excuse me?" Christopher managed to mouth out.

"I don't have powers, Sir. So doing this 'powers testing' thing on me would be a waste of your valuable time."

"But… I thought…" He had an expression of vague confusion as he looked at me. Behind him, his colleagues copied his expressions, various shades of surprise, puzzlement and most commonly confusion showing on their faces. "I thought we were going to meet the cape who defeated Lung?"

"He is." Battery replied for me. She glared at me once again, the mirror of the pissed off look she had when she left the office earlier. "Come here for a moment."

The Assistant Head and the Hero walked some paces away before they put their heads together, slouching and whispering with their backs turned towards me.

I still managed to hear most of the conversation.

"_He __**IS**__ the person who took down Lung_." Battery began, a bit too loudly for secrets.

"_But what he said..._" Dr. Christopher finished the half completed sentence with the tone of a question, unconsciously talking in the same loudness as the capeless cape.

"_We have video evidence and witness testimony. It __**IS **__him._"

"_Then, what about his beliefs?_"

"_He believes in a 'training plan' he created himself instead of having powers. And he believes the training gave him enough to beat Lung._"

The man of science was struck dumb yet again, straightening as he stared in disbelief at Battery. She pulled him back down to her height, but he interrupted before she could continue. "_Well… there is precedence for this sort of thinking. Myrddin does come to mind._"

"_For the record, Piggot believes he is delusional regarding his powers. But that's not why we're here to do now, is it? We just want to get an accurate read on his powers for now. Just play along, we'll leave the debates for later._"

"_It's unconventional to say the least. But I can go with that._"

"_Good luck. I'll be off then._"

The both of them stood up from their whispering and turned to look in my direction, their manufactured smiles plastered on their faces.

Well, I can play along too, going with that.

* * *

"Please, punch when you're ready."

I obliged. Putting myself in the proper stance, I made a great show of concentrating on what I should do next.

I opened my eyes.

I yelled for five full seconds.

I punched.

The machine pinged, as the sensor behind the pad measured the force immediately. Several scientists crowded around the monitor with the results.

Several of them sighed. One even groaned.

"Please, Mr. Tama," Christopher said through gritted teeth, "You… I… you… I know you can do better than that? Please punch the pad harder!"

"Okay."

I went through the entire ridiculous posing as before. I punched again, restraining myself just enough.

Thank god for small mercies. Mercies which happened to be in the shape of irritating mosquitoes. And learning how to not dent my apartment's walls while slapping them.

Another round of sighs. Two groans this time.

"Look, it's just some testing." Christopher injected while rubbing the temples of his forehead with the thumb and third finger of one hand. He was one of the groaners on the last test. "You do want to know how strong you are when compared to other capes, right?"

"I know how strong I am." I countered. "I can at least beat third-raters if I catch them by surprise. I did so twice before, you know?"

'And your direct superior just insulted me when I told you about my source of powers! So why should I give her anything?' Nope, I was not going to say that. As the saying goes, if you do not have anything good to say about someone…

"Yes, yes. But how well do you stack up against other parahumans?" Christopher forged onwards. "We at the PRT know our powers. We can tell you just how well you measure up against other capes."

"Oh, and also I think I'll break this pad or something. And then the… Piggot would bill me for it."

"Look, Mr. Tama, PRT equipment is built sturdier than that. That pad can probably withstand a car crashing into it without a scratch. And even if it breaks, we are not going to bill you for it!"

"Sayzzz you guys, two years ago…" I countered.

Christopher sighed again. He turned to the group of very disappointed scientists and clapped his hands to get their attention.

"Alright, guys, we have an unresponsive. You know the drill. Pack up and gather in lounge #2."

As the scientists and technicians busied themselves with shutting down the machinery we had used earlier, Christopher turned towards me yet again.

"Mr. Tama, at least think about getting properly tested?" He said as he dug into his lab coat, producing a name card which he offered to me. "Once you decide to do so, call the number on this card and schedule a follow-up? Please?"

"Ok." Whatever. Anything to get him out of my hair. Not that I had any, but, well, figure of speech.

* * *

"Stay here for the moment. I'll get you an escort back to Brockton Bay." Were the Assistant Head Scientist's last words to me. Five minutes ago.

I looked around the empty gym as I leaned against the wall with my lunchbox, bored out of my mind.

There was that beep again.

This time, I caught the direction it came from.

It was the punching machine. And it was still switched on, the screen displaying a big Zero below the words "initiate force on the pad when ready".

What was it the PRT guy said again? 'How well you measure up against other capes'?

Well, why not?

Putting down my lunch box, I posed myself properly in front of the target pad…

* * *

Alarms blared from all directions, accompanied by emergency lights flashing from every wall I could see. Interweaved between the wailing and the ringing, an announcement repeated itself yet again. "Protectorate Headquarters is believed to be under attack! I repeat, Protectorate Headquarters has suffered an unknown attack. All personnel are to follow Code C evacuation and lockdown procedures! All civilians and PRT visitors are to approach the nearest Protectorate staff for instructions! I repeat…"

"Yo!"

I jumped out of my skin as I turned rapidly on the spot where I was in front of the closed double doors of the gym.

Assault grinned where he stood beside me. He had obviously used the chaos of the alarms and flashing lights to sneak up on me.

"What an interesting day to be here, isn't it?" Assault had to yell to make himself heard above all the alarms.

I nodded enthusiastically. I did not exactly trust myself to speak.

"And since you're about the only civilian in this base at this ungodly early hour, this recently demoted gopher is now at your service. I'm here to show you your way out of here." Assault yelled conversationally, "Follow me!"

I followed, pretending to be politely interested in Assault's explanation on how some blaster just annihilated a section of the Protectorate Headquarters, while thanking my lucky stars that the unnamed villain attacked when he or she did.

And how lucky I was that Assault did not take a peek through the double doors I was leaning against. That machine had sounded expensive, and I did not want most of the money in my lunch box to disappear on me…

* * *

I was alone in the flying vehicle this time. The helicopter ride back was boring, which was quite surprising.

Then again, maybe not. I was too busy thinking inwards to actually appreciate the view outside. Or maybe I was too tense, waiting for the moment the helicopter would suddenly turn a hundred and eighty degrees, back to the Protectorate I had just managed to wreck.

I did not know what kind of equipment they kept in the Protectorate base, but it was used in powers testing, so maybe it was meant to crumble to pieces on a good hit. The other person _did_ tell me not to worry if I broke the thing after all.

But that, and the things I had learned from the meeting earlier, also meant something.

I was now strong enough.

I was ready.

I just had to find more third rate villains to get some practice at this 'hero' thing, get settled in as they say. Maybe a few more 'meetings' with some low level capes should be enough… I wonder if that 'Wolf' guy was still around for a spar?


	12. Arc 2: Interlude 2

**Interlude 2**

"Doctor, what are you doing here? Is our internal security down again? This is a sensitive, internal Protectorate meeting."

Doctor Christopher Lambert turned to face the speaker, and found his vision mostly blocked by a blue and silver gauntleted fist, the index finger of which was mere inches from his nose. He could slightly make out the sight of Miss Militia beside the owner of that fist, a look of consternation on her face as the second of the local Protectorate branch looked at the tactless hero.

"Armsmaster." Piggot responded from somewhere to his right in a loud voice that was not quite a shout.

The fist moved slightly to one side, a side effect of the hero's torso twisting to face the front of the room.

"I invited him." The Director of the PRT continued in her firm, unwavering voice, an authoritative stance he was well acquainted with despite having only been here a week.

"This is a class A-II meeting," Armsmaster stated in an emotionless recital of facts not out of place in a university's lecture theatre. "Dr. Lambert's position as the overall Assistant Head of Powers Research is class B-IV at best. There is no reason that he should be here…"

Armsmaster's stance changed abruptly, lowering his fist. Thus unimpeded, Christopher had a front row view to the dawning comprehension on Armsmaster's face, despite that his face being mostly hidden by his helm.

"Unless a certain someone is involved, yes." Christopher declared, finishing Armsmaster's sentence for him.

"Hmm," Armsmaster hummed an acknowledgement as he nodded his receipt of the statement, before he moved away to retrieve the seat he had kicked aside.

'Not even a hint of apology.' Christopher thought as the leader of the local Protectorate settled down onto his restored seat, while his second in command seated beside him looked like she was silently sighing. 'Well, I've seen worse.' he thought before turning towards the front of the room where Director Emily Piggot was seated. 'Much worse.'

Reaching the front of the room in two steps, Christopher exchanged some short, polite words with the Director before he turned around, facing the assembled audience. Six pair of eyes masked behind all manners of costumes looked back. As expected, Armsmaster sat in the front and center of the room with Miss Militia, portraying purpose and readiness just by being there. To one side, Assault lounged lazily right in the front row, no doubt dragged to the front by Battery, sitting as straight-laced as anyone could. Velocity flanked the front row on the other side, while Triumph sat by himself on the second row, his odd choice of seating as ill-fitting as his brand new spot in the Protectorate team.

There was nobody else in the room, not even the usual heads of PRT departments. For a class A meeting, the lack of the PRT response team leaders and intelligence heads was telling.

The odd man out in the room cleared his throat.

"We all know why we're here, and the investigation report will be printed and distributed soon enough, so I'll skip past the formalities." That earned a nod and a small hint of a smile from a silver and blue helm. "But I will include a brief, just so we're on the same page.

"This morning, at approximately Oh Three Fifty One of April the Nineteenth, this Protectorate base, the Rig came under attack. As there was no indication of an attacker and the Rig appeared to have suffered extensive damage, Code C evacuation and lockdown procedures were activated by the PRT officer on watch, and concurred shortly after by the Protectorate officer on call."

Christopher nodded in Velocity's direction. The speedster nodded back, but the downward direction his lips took showed a hint of worry in his face.

"Shortly after, unable to find any attackers and receiving no further attacks, the alarm was downgraded to Code E secure and readiness procedures at Oh Four Oh Nine. Barely a minute later, at Oh Four Ten a person identified as Oni Lee of the ABB attacked. I will not go into details about the next five minutes, as most of you were involved. We all know what happened next."

Christopher looked around the room. Not one face in the room was lacking in a grim outlook as the implications of the attack sunk in. The villains had gotten the better of them, despite their home ground advantage. A _single_ villain had gotten the better of them and managed to get away before the Rig could manage a response.

Worst of all, Lung was freed from deep within the Rig, from one of the most secure cells in the entire Protectorate, a spot second to very few locations in the entire world.

From any point of view, PR, preparedness, gang dynamics and various others, this attack had 'disaster' stamped all over it.

However, some of the faces in the room were more thoughtful than others, their owners having gotten a hint from the arrangement of Christopher's presentation. Armsmaster and Miss Militia were a given, but seeing Assault being deep in thought was a surprise. Triumph had a puzzled look instead, probably due to seeing the puzzle for what it was but not the solution to it.

"An investigation was carried out immediately after the lockdown of the Rig was lifted sufficiently. An hour later, I was included into the investigation with the Director's orders when certain facts came to light.

"For the record," Christopher made a point of briefly turning to face the Director, "I concur with the investigating overseers. Velocity's reasoning behind the first standing down of the alarm was sound, and he should be absolved of all blame. But it was just so very unfortunately timed; most of the Rig's systems were being cycled down and thus offline when Oni Lee attacked. And what was still running was being hampered by the damage from the first explosion.

"This brings us to why I was called in to assist; why the Rig sustained its first round of damage. Watch."

Christopher had paced himself slowly to the side of the front desk as he talked, and thus he was within arm's length of the room's projector. He withdrew his hand from a pocket as he finished the earlier sentence, plugging a little electronic card into the appropriate slot beside the system. Within moments, the members of the meeting were looking at a video projected onto the side wall of the meeting room.

The video was obviously a security feed of the north gym on the fourth floor, according to the imprints of text for location and time. However, unlike most security videos, this playback's quality was good enough to clearly display a person in the far end of the hall, standing next to one of the machines scattered in the room. He placed a small box onto the floor, walked up to the pressure plate of the bulky impact measuring device in question, posed and… static covered the recording.

The electronic cloud dissipated soon enough, replaced by the same scene, a huge cloud of dust covering where the person used to be. A few seconds later, the earlier person ran out of the cloud in obvious haste. Hurriedly looking right and left in panic, he disappeared off-screen to the right, only to reappear back into the camera's view with the gym's door torn off in one hand, diving back into the dust cloud.

Several moments passed before the same person reappeared yet again, still holding onto the gym's door, and holding the earlier box he had left on the floor in his other hand. He ran off-screen for the second time before the playback ended.

"And here's the aftermath." Christopher tapped the top of the projector, switching its output to an image of the basketball-sized hole on the side of the Protectorate base being projected onto the wall.

"Good news for our PR department, it doesn't look like much externally." Christopher pointed at the damage on the side of the floating base before he tapped the projector. "But the interior is unfortunately not made of the same tinker materials."

The image was replaced by a picture of a much larger tunnel, a lane of destruction through several room identified only by the sheared partitions, smashed filing cabinets, cracked computers, twisted server racks and paper confetti littered all over the floor. Assault whistled, earning a sideways look from his partner, while Triumph whispered something, which Miss Militia replied more audibly, "Yes, it does look like a brute decided to smash straight through the walls."

"Who did this?" Velocity asked, obviously wanting to know who caused the damage to the Rig on his watch.

Christopher tapped the projector yet again. A face showed up on screen, a mugshot of a bald, bored Asian man with various lines of information to one side.

"Meet Simon Tama, the person whom you just saw in the…"

A loud snort interrupted the speaker. The whole room turned to stare at Assault as he giggled in his little world, a shit-eating grin proudly displayed on his face for all to see. Battery was already leaning against him, whispering frantically for him to stop, adding in a dope slap for good measure.

The unruly cape did stop, abruptly even, but not because of his partner.

Christopher turned around and beheld a scene he thought he would never see in his life.

Piggot softly giggling to herself.

The Director recovered quickly, unfazed by the stares of surprised confusion from most of the room's occupants. "Oh, please, _DO_ continue. I really want to hear this." she said in her usual icy self, the act so natural it made the burst of disturbing mirth seem as if it was only a figment of shared imagination.

Sufficiently disrupted, Dr. Lambert took a while before he could reorder his thoughts. "So… in a roundabout way," he spoke before another pause, and resumed again a bit louder to speak above the returning chuckling behind him, "the first blast to the Rig and the resulting lack of readiness capitalized on by Oni Lee was technically my fault. The NonCom procedures worked wonderfully; I just did not expect Simon to do… this."

"Erm, what's 'NonCom'?"

"Ah, Triumph." Christopher turned to address the young Protectorate cape. "Don't worry too much about it; it's something of a nickname specific to my department, not yours. NonCom is short for non-committed, and for us it refers to common tricks and techniques to measure the ratings of the rare cape who approached us on friendly terms, but refused to be rated by the PRT for whatever reasons."

Triumph nodded, before a frown interrupted his features. "How does anyone test a person who doesn't want to be tested?"

"There are ways." Christopher waved towards the paused video on the wall. "For example, planting a suggestion through innocent conversation and a simple beeper to draw attention led to the results you just saw. Other methods include simple observation, interview of eyewitnesses and victims of the cape in question, simple aftermath investigation, and lots and lots of good cameras, microphones, pressure plates and other odds and ends.

"It's about the same bunch of tricks we use to try to pin classifications on villains and rogues, but because of the location, personnel and equipment within carefully prepared PRT or Protectorate locations, we are usually able to gauge the results much more accurately."

Christopher tapped the projector, showing the same viewpoint in the gym from an earlier point in time. He continued onto his next point as the video played. "As you can see, by leaving Mr Tama behind, Battery 'inadvertently' allowed us to find out about…"

"We're not here for NonCom lessons. What is Simon's classification?" Velocity interrupted, the red-clad striped speedster asking with the short, curt impatience surprisingly common in pure movers with momentum based abilities, especially those without flight. The uninterrupted video continued in the background, showing an easily identifiable Simon blurring as he _moved_ across the screen with astounding speed, catching up with Battery as they reached the research team.

With a raised brow, Christopher looked towards Armsmaster, who nodded. Another look was directed at the Director, who also nodded. Wordlessly, the Doctor tapped the projector multiple times, skipping pages and videos in his presentation. A final slide appeared, displaying four lines of text, and three numbers.

There was a collective gasp from some of the members in the room.

"As the bottom of the page suggests, all these ratings are merely speculations due to the NomCom nature of Simon." The old man clarified, "I had already bumped them up a notch to give us a margin of error, but they may still be…"

"He has a good mover score on top of being a Brute Seven?" Assault whistled. "That's going to be a serious pain in a fight."

"Striker/Brute." Christopher corrected. "We do not know if he can _take_ a punch."

"But, that's only one step under Alexandria!" The uncharacteristic outburst from Triumph was the loudest among similar sentiments. "And with Mover Five, aren't we dealing with an Alexandria light?"

"Numbers don't matter that much in a fight." Miss Militia reassured. "It's not how strong you are, but how you use it." Her shifting powers painted her green as she spoke, her hands fidgeting between a knife, handgun and a baton and back again.

"Thinker, Listening?" that particular exclamation came from Battery. "Oh. Oh no…"

On her end of the room, Piggot smiled as she leaned back, lost in her thoughts.

And Armsmaster chose to nod at the display. "That's good. That's very good indeed."

"Care to explain that, boss?" Assault turned to look at the Protectorate leader, much of his earlier relaxed demeanor gone. "Guy's going to be hell to deal with in a fight."

"Of course, but he's going to be our enemies' hell in a fight."

There was a pause in the round of exclamations in the room.

"Because he's on our side."

The pause continued.

"… I assume he is, Director?"

Armsmaster stared at Piggot for a long moment. The chair creaked as he began to lean forward, eventually moving so far that he could be described as getting off his seat. "I did ask him to join when… He **is** on our side, isn't he?"

"He is unlikely to be an ABB member, but..." Piggot began.

"You didn't." Armsmaster interrupted, aghast. "He isn't."

Piggot eventually replied. "There are reasons..."

There was a crash, and a bang. Miss Militia stood up calmly. "Please continue," she said before she walked around the fallen chair. Accelerating quickly, she made her way out of the room through the dented open door, intent on chasing down the fading echoes of the running tinker.

"And that, my bunny, is why I joined up." Assault quipped. "Never a dull moment with _*oof*_ "

Christopher agreed, just for that once, that the powered-up dope slap was entirely warranted.


	13. Arc 3: I'mma Hero! Setup Montage 11

Sorry for the delay guys, Bad, bad writer's block... hope it's over now.

**Arc 3: * "I'mma Hero!" Setup montage ***  
**Snip #11**

The door closed softly behind me as I exited the room. I sighed, as I turned to look around, an action soon mirrored by the old man who had exited the room with me.

They had all sent someone to witness what was going to happen. A significant number of them of them appeared to be the breadwinners of their families, wearing the suits, coveralls, uniforms or whatever they would be wearing to work later today. Yet they were here at ten am this Monday morning, clearly late for their jobs.

I did not know what to say to that.

Some families had sent more than one witness, a contrast varying in size and maturity beside their family representatives. These came in the form of children to be taken care of, young adults to back up their more elderly representatives, or equally aged men and women to give moral support to the crowd surrounding them.

On noticing us exiting the room, some turned to look our way, prompting similar reactions in others as they noticed the attentive, until to the last they had all turned to look our way. Those who had been seated stood up. Others broke off from, or moved forward in groups. There were unspoken minor fights for dominance as a crowd formed, as several of those blocked by the front rows of the crowd shifted and pushed, trying to get a better view.

The resulting mob packed themselves shoulder to shoulder, squeezing towards their common interest in the narrow corridors on the first floor, stopped from getting closer only by an invisible line drawn by earlier agreement. They faced us both wordlessly, but it was clear their attention was on the old man beside me.

I saw him nodding from the corner of my eye. With the naturally soft, calm voice of an aged person, he said, "Simon has agreed to all our terms. Today, on the Eighteenth of…"

There was an immediate cheer from those in the front of the crowd, blanketing out whatever else the old man would have said. The few people I could see in the second row hesitated, unsure, obviously unable to see the nod of the shorter man beside me. A teenager amongst them tugged on the sleeves of a person in front. Loud, happy words were exchanged, the news was passed backwards, and moments later the youth was cheering too, turning around to spread the good news in loud shouts.

With the words passed down, the whole crowd was cheering soon enough. They shouted their jubilation at the top of their voices to the last. The echoes doubled in on themselves in the narrow confines as the young, the old and everyone in between added to the din in the partially enclosed corridor.

Me? I was just wondering what the hell I was going to do with myself for the next few hours.

* * *

I stood outside what was my apartment, looking down at my feet.

Three boxes.

Why did it have to be three boxes? It could not be a convenient two, or four. It had to be three boxes. And for added insult, the third box had to be much smaller than the rest, but just bulky enough, difficult enough to be carried together with the others.

Then again, it was kind of sad that I had only three boxes in total. I had excuses for that, but…

"Hi." A voice from the side interrupted my musings. I turned in response and saw the speaker.

She was a teenager, a kid wearing casual clothing which could only be described as meek, and distinctly out of place in the rapidly warming spring weather; A baggy long sleeve windbreaker large enough to cover even the tips of her fingers fought for dominance with an equally baggy set of cargo pants reaching down to smoother her footwear in folds of cloth. Her face was equally hidden behind her brown, wavy hair, and the reflective glare of a pair of glasses tried to hide what her hair did not.

But still, I recognized her immediately, if in a very different context.

"Tailor Herbert! Hello there, what a nice coincidence." I greeted my on-again, off-again running partner. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Hi." That single squeak was the sum total of her response as she fidgeted from one foot to the next.

"So, what's up?"

"I…" She started… and apparently forgot the rest of whatever she wanted to say. It looked like she tried to say something again and again, but nothing came out as she stopped before even a syllable was uttered. Her face lowered with each unsuccessful try, and she ended up looking straight down at the floor.

That got me thinking, and it was immediately obvious. She was not one of my neighbors, but she was here on the fourth floor of this apartment complex. Not to mention it was a school day, and she's young enough to need to go to school. And on top of that she lacked the usual confident 'go-getter' attitude she displayed on our runs.

I cleared my throat to grab the young teenager's attention. "Except… it's not a coincidence you're here, is it?"

She flinched from the question.

Confident I was on the right track, I continued. "I don't think I've mentioned I lived around here. How did you find me?"

She flinched again, looking up at me. "I…" she managed to say again, before her head went back down. "_I… bugged you._"

"Oh man. Look, you probably skipped school just to be here, didn't you?"

She nodded.

"And you have something you need to say to me? Something important, world shattering even, to the both of us and our futures. But now that you're here in front of me, you can't seem to bring yourself to say it?"

Her next nod was microscopic.

"Yea, I thought so."

I sighed, and immediately regretted it as she flinched again. Oh boy. I could not even see her face to gauge her reaction. How should I put this delicately?

"I'm… You… Tailor? You're actually pretty nice, well, for the short amount of time I know you that is. And depending on how you look at it, you're a pretty good girl too. Finding out where I live? It's quite…"

I trailed off as something else just occurred to me, something I had almost missed. "By the way, can I see how you 'bugged' me?"

"I… " She managed to say before words failed her again. Instead, she gestured towards the wall of the corridor.

I read the word_ 'Hi'_ written on the wall, written with the bodies of cockroaches. The roach dotting the 'i' flew off the wall as I watched, and landed on my shoulder. I instinctively stepped back as I flicked that cockroach off my shoulder. It took to the air again and landed right back on the wall, where the rest of the bugs were busy rearranging themselves with a few new arrivals. The words _'I'm sorry'_ formed, before dissolving into _'for last night'_.

She was the bug girl last night.

Whoa, I almost made a fool of myself just now.


	14. Arc 3: 12

**Snip 12**

We looked at each other awkwardly in the silence of the fourth floor corridor. Or rather, I looked at Tailor awkwardly, and she looked at the floor awkwardly.

"So, you're the…"

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "_Shhhh!_" she shushed, one finger over her lips as she looked up and down the corridor. A small wave of bugs accompanied the search, flying in formation as they turned around the corners or rested themselves on the doors of this floor's apartments.

A moment of silence later, she relaxed, her upper body slumping in relief. "Nobody's listening" she sighed.

"_I could have told you that,_" I mumbled.

She rounded onto me the next moment. The next few words were spat out, the soft volume of her whisper offset by the harshness and anger in the whisper's message. "What was **that** about?! You do not expose a cape's secret identity! It's one of the big taboos!"

"I didn't know that," I replied honestly.

"Well, now you do!"

"Erm, ok."

Apparently, that was the sum total of acceptable conversation topics between us, because right after that we looked at each other awkwardly in the silence of the fourth floor corridor. Again.

"Oh!" I hit the open, upward facing palm of my left hand with the base of my right fist as something occurred to me. My actions brought Tailor's head up from the curiously attractive gravity of the corridor's floor.

"You know quite a few things about capes, right?" I asked.

"Erm…"

"You know about the unwritten rules. That's something I don't know. You probably know more about cape life, more than me at any rate?"

"I guess? I only knew about the unwritten rules from Armsmaster's interview, but…"

"Do you know who's who cape-wise in Brockton Bay?"

"I did a bit of research online, but…"

"That's more than what I know then. And you have…" I conversationally swerved when her confused look turned into a frowning glare, "… you can control you know what?"

"Yes."

She's **perfect**! "You're **perfect**!" I repeated my thoughts out loud.

"I am?"

"So," I intoned, my expression as serious as I could make it. I grabbed her on both her shoulders as I said the next words, looking slightly upwards and directly into her eyes. "I am going to clean up Brockton Bay. Wipe out crime, get villains behind bars, the works. I am going to be a Hero. Will you help me?"

She was astonished, her eyes wide as saucers. Her mouth fell open as the meaning of my statement sunk in. The moment stretched on and on, to the point I was getting a bit worried as she started trembling in my arms.

My worry was finally dispelled when she nodded several times with all her might.

"Well, thank you very much Miss Tailor Herbert," I said as I smiled, holding out a hand in an unofficial gesture of an agreed contract. "I look forward to your help."

She smiled back with the biggest grin I had seen on her face to date. "By the way, it's Hebert. No 'R'," she corrected as she shook my hand.

"Oh. Sorry about that Tailor."

"No worries. It's a common mistake. So, what now?"

"Well…. You can follow me?" I said as I picked up both of the larger boxes in front of me. I gave the third box the evil eye yet again, before I turned around and asked to one side, "Oh, and can you help me with the last box? We have some distance to go, and I don't want to drop that."

She goggled at my retreating back, or at least I saw her doing so when I turned around to look back, wondering what was with her delay and jerking my head to indicate she should follow. It took a moment for her to recover, but as I reached the stairs at the far end of the corridor, I could hear her footsteps as she struggled to keep up.

* * *

"You… were… **what**?!"

It was surprising how much emotion she could put in that voice, despite her current condition.

"I was evicted," I replied. "The neighbors of the entire block banded together and sent the landlord an ultimatum, and got me kicked out of my apartment. Seriously, their timing couldn't be worse! I finally had enough money to pay for all the back rent I owed, for goodness sake! I've even had enough left over for repairs!"

"But… why?"

"Quote 'defacing public property', 'extensive unauthorized renovations' and 'disturbing the peace' unquote. That last one was especially stupid. Seriously, I don't even understand the size of that blowout. Apparently, they can't stand a little noise in the day, let alone at night. But even if they can't, why wouldn't they talk to me first? I could have let up on my own if I knew… Oh, here we are. My new home sweet home."

I put down one of the boxes to free up a hand, which I used to open the door before me.

And I sighed as I placed the other box in the middle of my new lodgings.

It was the second floor office of a warehouse. Filing cabinets laid abandoned on the floors and walls of the dusty place. Slightly off to another side, a frame of a table rusted silently, its missing wooden parts probably had long been converted into kindling by looters. Two other doorways faced me, one open towards the overflowing stench of an adjoining restroom, and another to an open balcony and walkway overlooking what used to be the warehouse's storage areas.

It would require quite a lot of elbow grease to clean and refurbish. A gallon or ten of bleach for the toilet, some furniture, a carpet or three, and lots of paint to cover the graffiti coating everything, but I could see myself living here. As an added plus, the electricity and water was still curiously running.

It would not be what I called perfect, but beggars can't be choosers.

At that thought, I sighed again. The saying was apt; as of now I was now an illegal resident in the middle of the Docks, my house a trespassed warehouse office, my neighbors the wandering poor hiding in the Docks. I had planned this for two years, knowing that my joblessness would eventually lead to this. But I still felt blindsided by my new status.

What happened to the dreams I had when I came to America?

I was interrupted from my thoughts by Tailor, as the teenage parahuman less placed and more dropped her assigned box roughly onto the ground, before she collapsed on the floor herself. "What in the… the world do you have… inside this box?" she demanded as she caught her breath, leaning back on her hands where she sat.

"Oh, just random odds and ends," I said as I stretched my shoulders and flexed my neck. "I hope it wasn't too heavy for you?"

Tailor gave me an odd look, a weird expression I could not figure out. Eyeing the large box I had carried, and the smallest box she had carried, she pursed her lips before moving her eyes onto the one I had left just outside my new residence. She stood and walked over to the doorway, where she reached out with both hands and grabbed the handholds of the wooden container a third as tall as she was.

A look of surprise flashed past her face when her tug failed to move that box. She squatted down, bracing her legs on the floor and leaning over the box before she strained. Her body slacked a moment later as she readjusted her posture, and she tugged again.

* * *

Five minutes later, I watched as Tailor pulled with all her might yet again. Her face was flushed red as she showed her teeth in a grimace of effort. Her limbs were trembling, her legs and arms shaking with the exertions she had forced into them. Her back arced above the box, the lower back bent into a 'C' yet again as she tried to force her upper body and its anchor off the ground.

She suddenly tumbled backwards onto the floor, her grip having given up before the rest of her.

The offending box had not budged at all. I did not think it had even moved more than an inch those past five minutes.

"Are you all right?" I said as I walked around the recollapsed girl, who was coughing into the cloud of dust caused by her fall, dislodging more dust from the floor and causing more coughing. Seeing her nod, I continued, "Here, let me."

Squatting and grabbing the box properly, I maintained the optimal straight-backed stance for lifting heavy objects and stood up with a smooth motion. With a slight grunt of effort, I hefted that box with me back into the room and placed it beside its peer.

I turned back towards the entrance, where an astonished Tailor had lifted her head off the floor to look at me.

"Oh right. You're a Brute," She said, "Or maybe something else? How did..."

"Now that's just rude." I replied, annoyed. "Calling me a brute just because I can lift a box?"

"What?! No! I, I was talking about the PRT power classifications!"

"Huh?"

She raised the rest of her upper body off the ground with her elbows as she stared at me. "You don't know what power classifications are?"

"No~ope."

She blinked. That was followed by a face-palm.

"Well, it **IS** why I need your help?"

"Ok. Alright. How did that poem go again?" She asked herself as she got back onto her feet, slapping her clothes and creating large clouds of dust in the air. "Right. _Mover, Shaker, Brute and ... Broken? Master, Tinker, Blaster and Thinker. Smacker, Changer, Trump and_ … something. I don't remember. I know it's on the tip of my tongue but…"

"What was that?" I asked, interrupting. I was genuinely confused at that point.

"Those are the PRT classifications."

I continued to look confounded.

"Ok, those words in the little jingle just now? Those are the power classifications. It's a sort of 'short form' the PRT uses to describe everyone's different powers, and, I think, also affect how they should handle situations with those powers.

"Most of them are intuitive to the word used, in my opinion, and I think this is done on purpose. For example, Movers is used on capes who can move quickly or teleport, which fits the meaning 'movement'. Masters on the other hand brings up the image of a 'person who controls', and it refers to people who can control other things, and so on.

"So, for example, a PRT employee would only need to point at me and say 'Master!' and pretty much immediately all the PRT and Protectorate folks, and some others besides, will immediately know I can control or create something to control, and so they can react appropriately."

"I don't know," I responded, "That classification seems to have a lot of gaps in it. What if, say, you controlled Kaijus? Like, you can summon a gigantic radioactive dragon lizard from the middle of the Bay or something? Wouldn't you still be called a Master?"

"Yes?" Tailor replied hesitantly. "But I don't control..."

"I don't think those PRT guys will 'react appropriately' if they brought a vat of bug-spray, turned around the corner and came face to face with a giant King Kong now, would they?"

There was a pause, before my statement earned itself a snort of laughter from my guide on capes.

" 'Release the bug spray!' " I continued on my hypothetical scenario. " 'Bug spray is a PRT-sanctioned appropriate reaction to a ten story tall Giant Enemy Crab Monster! Oh good, we're obviously hitting its weak point for massive damage, even if it is obliterating everything in sight! We just need more bug spray!' "

The earlier snort had grown into loud laugher. "Stop! Please! Oh, my sides," Tailor begged, clutching her stomach as she hunched over in a crouch for balance.

Despite me obliging her, it took a few moment before she recovered.

"I… wow. Thanks for, heh, the laugh. But, I don't think the PRT would be _that_ incompetent. There's also a number to go with the classifications, but I don't quite understand that, yet. The bigger the number, the more power the cape has? Anyways, no matter what else you can say about them, they had been doing somewhat well on cape matters thus far."

"Bureaucracy," I countered. "Don't underestimate how bad things can be in a Bureaucracy."

She looked like she wanted to disagree, but she did not respond in any way.

"So, they'll call me a Brute then?"

"Brutes refer to people with beyond human strength and toughness, and sometimes regeneration or damage prevention," Tailor nodded. "So, yes. Most definitely."

"Great. And the worst part of the whole thing is: I don't even have powers. I only just trained more than the average person," I more or less pouted. A brute wasn't exactly a nice thing to call someone.

"But… you…," I guess Tailor did not have much to say to that. "So, erm… what's in this box anyways?"

"My life possessions, the ones I could carry at least. I got kicked out of my home, remember?"

"Oh right. Sorry."

"Don't be. As for that particular box, it contains all of my electronics. TV, VCRs, you know. Also, there's an old abandoned computer I hope I can fix, some magazines, yesterday's newspaper, a few hundred coupons, some instant noodles, what's left of my entire Manga collection, and some old clo... My old clothes!"

Excitedly, I tore open the box and took out the metal boxes of my battered laptop and other electronics. Having cleared enough space, I started to rummage inside, throwing a random magazine, pot or undergarment out of the way to create more space and shift things about. It did not take much time until I finally reached the layer I was digging for.

With a tug, I freed the vintage box out of the pile of clothes, holding it high above me as I showed it to Tailor. "Tada!" I exclaimed. "This is going to be my new costume!"

Having her face-palm was the last reaction I expected.


	15. Arc 3: 13

**Snip #13**

"So! How do I look?"

Tailor Hebert's head appeared around the corner of the office's balcony doorway.

Even without a mirror, I could picture what she was seeing: a real life copy of the box art; a fictional hero brought to life in the real world; a hero I had adored and watched every Saturday on television without fail, back before I came to America.

She was seeing the perfect amalgamation of the classic Japanese cape and a Greek hoplite.

I was clad in a bright yellow bodysuit covering every inch of my body. Over this various 'bronze' armor pieces were worn. Said 'bronze' pieces took the shape of a sculpted breast plate, complete with an impressive indentation of the classic six-pack. Finishing the equipment was a large, round 'bronze' shield attached to one arm, and a thin 'bronze' spear I held in the other.

Of course, a commercial costumer did not really sell actual bronze armor to random people, not even in the past during the height of the Japanese cape craze. Those 'bronze' pieces were some other light metals, something closer to aluminum I believe, while the spear was made of foam and plastic. But I digress.

On my head covering most of my features was a helm, a solid tubular covering made of the same 'bronze' smoothly curved around my head. A stylized Y was cut into the front of the mostly solid shell, exposing my eyes and nose.

Complementing the large amounts of yellow and finishing the look of the old classic hero were patches of red spread all over the costume. It was the color of my gloves, my boots, a spiffy belt, and a plume of red synthetic hair mounted on top of the helm.

And of course the completely awesome cape which adorned my back. It reached all the way down to my knees, red on the outside and yellow on the inside, fluttering in the air despite the lack of a breeze in my new house.

"Am I glad now I accidently bought this costume in adult size; my youthful frustration and tears are now paying back in large dividends." I explained as Tailor got a good long look at my costume. "You just can't get this anywhere anymore. Japan's cape scene never really recovered as a whole after Leviathan happened to Kyushu."

She was still staring at me, struck speechless by my costume.

"Sentai Spartan!" I shouted, making the requisite wind milling hand movements of the character whose costume I was wearing, trying to provoke a reaction.

She still stared.

As flattering as the awed silent treatment was, it was also getting somewhat uncomfortable. "C'mon," I prompted. "Say something."

I got my wish.

"You look like a dork."

"... huh?"

* * *

Meanwhile

* * *

The fourth floor walkway and balcony of the apartment complex was empty. It was not surprising, really, given the hour of the day; most would be at work at that hour.

A pair of soft, unobtrusive sounds whispered, the soft 'pppith' barely audible on the fourth floor walkway. The sounds were too soft to have been from anywhere but beyond the walls, from somewhere outside the apartments and far away, and any hypothetical observers would not have given them a second thought.

The next set of sounds to be heard would not be so easily dismissed however; they were much louder, attention grabbing metal on metal jingling. The nonexistent observer's attention would be drawn by the sounds to the pair of metal wires which had not been there moments before, the thick bundles draped over the concrete guardrails of the walkway. One end disappeared over the edge, the origin from wherever it came hidden from view, while the other end was visibly tipped with an evil-looking metal asterix, made from crisscrossed bars adorned with spikes.

The observer would then jump back in surprise as the spike-tipped wires suddenly tightened, pulled back out over the railing. The spiked contraptions flew off the floor from the force, but their shape worked against their retreat as they embedded themselves into the handholds of the waist-high wall. Bits of concrete, paint and metal flaked off as the spikes dug in, hinting at the forces acting on the wire.

And standing where he was right in front of the now obviously grappling hooks, our hypothetical observer's last thoughts would be, "What is that roaring noise?"

The guardrail exploded, the top half of a large two meter section simply ceasing to exist from one moment to the next. A cloud of deadly concrete and metal shrapnel scythed inwards, creating large pits and craters in the opposite wall of the walkway.

The dust cloud barely had time to form before a two wheeled contraption rocketing on blinding blasts of flame roared through the newly created hole, slamming right into the opposite wall and imprinting on it yet another chunk of damage which put all the earlier ones to shame.

Expertly, a humanoid astride the new arrival twisted, and additional jets on the frame of the furious beast flared into life. It spun on one wheel, guided by the skill of the rider in the narrow confines of the walkway, before the now identifiable motorbike came to a stop.

Barely as soon as motion ceased and the flames extinguished was the vehicle abandoned, the rider simply dumped it against the wall as he jumped off in his haste. The new metal and blue arrival took five great strides before he was standing in front of one of the doors of the walkway. Without delay, the silver-clad man banged his fist loudly on the doorway of the apartment. "Simon Tama! I know you're in there! Open up! Open up Simon T…"

The shouting was abruptly truncated as the door opened, vertically. The slab of wood crashed flatly into the room, raising a cloud of dust in front of the astonished armored figure as he stared at his hand and wondering if he used a bit too much force.

"Oh. Ah, Hello." An old man looked around the corner from the inside, walking out of one of the inner rooms of the apartment. He looked at the figure in the doorway, observing the blue highlights and stylized symbol on the man's helm repeated on his chest. Recognizing the hero, he bowed.

"Welcome, Armsmaster. Hero of the Protectorate. I am honored to meet with you." The old man said in hesitant, mispronounced English with the staccato cadence of a person used to speaking in Eastern languages.

"… Who are you?" Armsmaster demanded.

"I am Isamu Shirou, honored hero."

"Why are you in here?" The emotionless follow up came immediately on the heels of the previous answer.

"I am the landlord of this apartment complex."

"Oh." The hero said, looking at the door he just broke.

The old man noticed his glance and shrugged. "Don't worry too much about that, Hero sir. As you can see…" he trailed off, as he waved a hand around the apartment complex.

Armsmaster took the invitation to look around, flipping a switch as he did so. He was immediately, nearly blinded as his helm reacted, thick bundles of status readouts highlighting the chipped flooring, the loose floor tiles, the hand printed craters on the walls, the small chunks of missing ceiling, the scratch damage all over, the gorged damage accompanying them, the structural damage within, and above all the no-longer-rectangular washing machine and fridge, obviously damaged by something extraordinary.

"Someone fought here." Armsmaster said, as he managed to switch off his helm's functionality before another block of readouts brought along a second wave of blindness.

"I wish, hero sir. If only it was so."

A pair of hidden eyes met the old wizened look. The hint was picked up on almost immediately.

"Simon Tama." Armsmaster said.

The old man nodded. "I see this. I can not kick him out fast enough."

The hero stiffened at the statement, realizing the implications immediately. "Where is Simon Tama _NOW_?" he demanded.

"I..." the old man was taken aback, "I do not know."

"Is there a forwarding address? I have urgent Official Protectorate Business with him; I must meet with him now!"

"My apologies, sir hero. I do not know… I am sorry."

"Very well," Armsmaster replied, outwardly calm.

His inner thoughts were anything but.

* * *

Moments later, a dejected hero accompanied an old man as they both slowly made their way out of the apartment.

"I will call Protectorate number when I see him", the landlord continued the rambling old men were known for, "Thankful I kick him out now. If he continue to damaging the... Nandaro! Nani ga oki teru!?"

A piece of the scorched, cracked wall decided to emphasize the old man's statement, breaking off and bouncing noisily against the armored plated shell of Armsmaster's motorbike.

Armsmaster ceased to react even as the old man turned around to look at him. "... ... Official Protectorate Business, citizen."

The old landlord gaped at the stiffly straight statue of a Hero, unable to believe what he just heard.

"I _NEED_ to find Simon Tama." The silver-clad halberd wielder continued, as if that statement had any connection with the newest devastation.

"Just... Just get out of here." the old man managed to choke out.

"Yes sir. And if you would call the Protectorate if..."

"OUT! **Get OUT**! **Out out out OUT!**"

Armsmaster walked past the landlord without any further comment.

It was really better this way.


	16. Arc 3: 14

**Snip #14**

"Are you seriously going out in that getup?" Tailor exclaimed as I closed the door of the second floor office.

"Why not?" I replied, fumbling with the brand new padlock I bought for my new abode.

"I wasn't joking earlier, you know."

"And?"

"I'm serious, Simon. That costume's going to be a liability."

"It's that breastplate thing again, isn't it?" I called out behind me as I continued to fumble with the padlock. "I told you earlier, as soon as I get an actual hero's armorer to help…"

"Not that, but since you brought it up; with that armor in the way, you can't even raise your arm above your head!"

"I too can raise my arms." I pouted, as I did what I said. I went back to trying to slot the lock into the hole in the metal gate right after the demonstration.

"That's because the shoulder guards are made of cloth and hard cardboard!"

"So?" I said. The whining from the bug girl was getting a little irritating. "I'll just get something tougher but similarly flexible when I commission the actual armor."

"And your helm."

"What about my helm?"

"Can you even _SEE_ out of it?"

I turned my head all the way around to look at Tailor. The helm flopped despite the straps, half-blocking my view of my partner in cape-hood. With one hand, I readjusted it back and straight, while with the other I pointed at the stylized 'Y' cut into the front.

"See? Eyeholes."

"Right," came the retort, "and tell me, how long did you take to lock your front door again?"

Wordlessly, I turned back towards the doorway, squatting down a little so as to bring my eye to the same level as the spot where the lock should go. With the helm thus balanced, my vision was much less impaired, and I completed the task effortlessly.

Maybe she had a point? Nah, I just need to adjust the straps better when I come back.

"… and what about the cape?" She had continued onwards without my attention. "It…"

"Look, Tailor Hebert," I put my foot down, turning back around to face the fashion critic. "I don't know about you, but ever since I'm young this is what I always wanted to wear if I ever become a Hero." I adjusted the helm again so as to be able to look at her right in the eye. "I _AM_ going out on this run in full costume precisely to see if this can work. So can you at least give my childhood dream a chance? A single chance, that's all I ask."

Her mouth was a good imitation of an out-of-water fish for a long moment, before she threw up both arms and turned away. "Ugggh! Do what you want! I don't care anymore."

Huh. That worked.

"Tailor."

She was mumbling as she took to the stairs in large, flat, angrily loud footsteps. "_… design is going to get him killed. At least get rid of the stupid head-mounted broomstick…_"

"Tailor?"

"_… wears a cape nowdays? Every single verified cape, EVERY SINGLE ONE in PHO told everyone else just how dangerous a piece of costume around the neck is…_"

"Tailor!" I shouted.

"Oh! Yes?" She said as she stopped walking down the stairs and turned around. The response managed to be marinated in sullen and spiced with surprise at the same time, as she frowned at me.

"Did you bring your costume?" I asked.

"No. No I didn't."

"Then, when we get outside, please run ahead of me, don't look back, and pretend you don't know me."

Her frown deepened.

"Cape identities are a thing, right?" I pre-empted her question. "You were so worried about it earlier, so I thought this might be one of those things we should be careful about."

"Ah… right." Dawning understanding wiped out the frown and the anger as she nodded. "But we can always run the other way. My house's near the running route. It wouldn't take long for me to grab my costume."

"Nah. I want to run a shorter distance today," I countered. "Plus, the Trainyard route to Capitol Hill and back again is less crowded. I don't want large groups of people to see me in the Marketplace just yet."

"Ok, Simon." She nodded, before she turned back to descent the stairs, taking the steps down two at a time.

After half a minute or so, I followed her down the stairs and out of the... and I promptly twisted my neck as the crest of my helmet hooked onto the top of the door.

Maybe she really did have a point with the helmet?

* * *

Five minutes later, we were halfway across the trainyards. And as I turned around a corner of a rusting cabin, the helm decided to turn a little bit too much yet again. I managed three or four steps, completely blind, before…

**BANG**CRASH**

… I ran into a lamppost.

I fell onto the gravel behind me.

Moments later, I could hear crunching gravel as footsteps ran up to me. "Are you all right?!" Tailor exclaimed as I saw her leaning down from a corner of what was left of my vision.

"I'm all right… I think." I said, sitting up.

"That's good. The lamppost was destroyed, so I… Simon?"

"Help me a bit, would you? I need to remove this." I realized, as I waved my arms in front of me much as a blind man does.

The helm was still blinding me. More importantly, the helm was also dented in such a way as to ensure it remained in a position which would continue to mostly blind me.

I could not continue wearing it a moment more until I repaired it.

"Are we alone?" I asked.

From the same corner of my limited vision, I saw her looking at me, before her eyes acquired that far-away look. Soon after, she nodded. "Yes, I think we're alone."

"Good." I said.

I carefully undid the strap, and pushed two fingers up from below the helm. Pushing it as wide as the bent metal could give, I removed the helm, scraping my face as I did so. An immediately apparent coolness rushed in with the helm removed. It felt good, after my face had been cooped up for so long.

"Simon…" Tailor worried beside me, looking between me and the helm in my hand even as small wings of mosquitos formed and spread out. "What about your secret identity? What are you going to wear?"

"Don't worry about it. Look." I grabbed the somewhat puffy neck of my costume, and tugged. A small pocket of the body suit came loose, material previously hidden inside a cleverly disguised pocket along the neckline. With some careful tugging, I pulled most of the material out, up and around my head.

Soon enough, my identity was safe once more. Once again, I could imagine what Tailor was seeing: my head and face was hidden behind a bright yellow skin-hugging latex head cowl, a horizontal slot outlined in red around the eyes allowing me to see, being the only exposed skin the costume allowed.

"Spartan Mode!" I shouted as I jumped to my feet, doing the hand movements of the cartoon hero's transformation sequence. "This is Sentai Spartan's level one. The helmet was supposed to represent the power upgrade crystal sphere version of this hero."

She stared at me from where she was still kneeling, with the look of those caught by surprise by some great calamity. And this time I anticipated Taylor's face-palming reaction at my transformation sequence. The girl really have not taste at all in Sentai uniforms and actions!

"Come, let's go," I interrupted her sigh. "I still want to find out how viable moving around in this bodysuit is."

"Ok. Same plan as just now?"

"Same plan."

I watched her run ahead for a bit, before I followed, holding the helm by its straps on one hand.

* * *

It was in hindsight hilarious that this occurred in the downtown areas, given we had both just ran through the gang-infested Docks and the Trainyards. But that thought would not occur to me yet, in the heat of the moment.

A moment ago, Tailor was staggering on her feet, trying to move faster in front of me even as she felt the pressure my stares into her back. The next moment, she disappeared into an alley.

By the time I reached the entrance of the alleyway, Tailor had found herself in the embrace of a young teenager, and surrounded by two more youngsters, a male and a female. And for some reason, they were all bald.

"… shaddap you hear me? If I even hear… whot?" I heard the female of the trio saying as she spotted me. Her face twisted, ugly in hatred, as she pointed the knife she was holding towards me.

"Hey, are you…" I managed, before getting interrupted.

"Get lost, yellow! 'dis's none of your business!" She spat out.

The teenager with his back to me stiffened his back straight in response to the girl's statement. He continued to hold Tailor close to him by wrapping his right arm around her neck and the other arm around her torso, as his female partner launched herself into an unbroken stream of expletives beside him.

"_Shit. It's the yellow chink in the sweatshirt?_" Armlock guy whispered.

"_No. That bastard doesn't come out at this time. Just some weird shit with a yellow costume._" the remaining young adult whispered back.

"_Oh, good… Wait, wait. Costume? Shit, he's a cape?_"

"_Never seen him before. And trust me, we're ok._"

"_But…_"

"_Trust me, been doing this for a while. It's not the first some idiot thinks he can scare us Empire off with a flashy costume. And even if he has powers, I have this…_"

They both nodded at something.

"Hey, shithead! You listening to me?!" the female teenager had stepped around the others in the narrow alley, and was now facing me. The knife she held was now somewhat close to my breastplate.

I looked at her. "Ya." I nodded.

"Then get lost!"

"Ok." I said, "The Miss over there, you coming?"

"Nope. She's with us." The guy facing me shouted.

I could hear choking sounds as he spoke, as Armlock guy flexed his arm to prevent Tailor from making a sound. I could also hear the soft humming of the insects as they gathered.

I frowned.

"I don't think she's with you," I said. "Let her go."

"Last warning, dick! Get lost!" the female said. And in odds to the words she just uttered, the bald teenager lunged, her knife aimed at my face.

So much for a peaceful resolution.

I punched.

She dropped to the floor, as if her strings just got cut.

"Holy!" the trusty bald young adult shouted, as he revealed what he had been hiding from my sight.

I jumped. Thrusting my foot against the alley's wall to the right, I flipped.

The gun was raised only to aim at an empty alleyway's entrance. I was already above them, upside down, my head almost touching theirs.

I punched.

I landed right in front of Armlock kid, as the other bald teen flopped against him, on his one way trip towards the ground. My cape fluttered majestically onto the floor behind me. Perfect.

I turned around to face the last kid, making sure to throwing my cape dramatically behind me.

The wide-eyed hostage taker had already taken out a knife while I was not looking, and was pointing it at an equally wide-eyed Tailor. "Don't move! I…"

He slumped. I held onto his knife hand with my left as he slid off Tailor.

* * *

She was still taking large gulps of air as she sat on the curb of the main street. I could not figure out whether it was exhaustion from running earlier or the excitement moment ago.

"You all right?" I asked again for the third time, from where I was seated beside her.

"Yeah. Yes." Tailor finally replied. She stood up from the leaning posture she had earlier in a smooth motion, a motion I realized too late was also spitting in the thug's direction.

The downed person who had held her by the neck did not even react.

"Fucker," she said, loudly. "I should drown you in insects. Maybe that'll…"

"Calm down, Tailor," I said, reinforcing my statement with a calming hand on her shoulder, "I already took care of it."

She took a few deep breaths, calming down before she looked at me again. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"Thanks." I smiled.

"And all I did was panic. God, I'm so weak."

"You're not weak Tailor. Just inexperienced. And untrained."

"Un… so, if I ran just like you, I can do the amazing things you did just now?"

"Yup. Cross my heart and everything."

She smiled at my answer, a face-splitting pleased expression. And then she snorted.

I smiled a bit wider.

We started laughing there on the street side, an odd sight to the bystanders; a girl dressed in baggy clothes and a man in a Sentai Spartan costume.

We were still laughing when the alarms started.


	17. Arc 4: The Bank Job action scene 15

*** The Bank Job action scene ***

**Snip #15**

"This!" I exclaimed as the alarm continued to ring. "I know this! It's an Endbringer alarm!"

Tailor Hebert looked at me before her eyes widened as the idea sank in.

"An Endbringer's coming here!" I continued. "An **END**Bringer! It's going to burn Brockton Bay to the ground! Or sink it! Or… or… do horrible things to it!"

I could imagine what it would do here. I could picture the devastation.

I could remember my hometown, which was not even in Leviathan's path. The empty lots where there used to be rows of houses. The mud and silt everywhere. Everything, buried as if it never existed.

I noticed movement, and looked up in reaction. I watched as Tailor walked a few steps away from me, enough to bring her to the entrance of the alleyway. She calmly looked out into the streets beyond and then looked back at me again.

I would be lying if I said I was just as calm as that girl. I would be lying if I said I was even half as calm as that girl.

If I was honest with myself, I would also be lying if I said I was calm at all.

"Don't you get it?!" I continued to panic, moving forward and grabbing onto her. I shook my startled partner as if to emphasize my point as I continued talking, "I can't beat an Endbringer! Nobody can! Entire groups of capes get destroyed by Endbringers all the time! What am I going to do!? Where am I going to go!? I most certainly can't scratch him! What am I going to do!? Where the hell am I… what?"

My near panic ground to a halt as Tailor slowly and deliberately facepalmed.

I must have perceived something very wrongly.

Panic replaced itself with confusion. I mean, I was right, wasn't I? Endbringers, you know? Big killing things that ends things? Unstoppable rampaging monsters? They're always Horrible, with a capital H, yes? How could I be wrong? How **could** I be possibly…

"Simon," Tailor spoke through her fingers. I could hear the sigh accompanying her words, "an Endbringer alarm is a loud, multiple klaxon system installed all over the city. They go 'whhhooooo', and are much louder. This is just a set of ringing bells."

Oh. "Oh." Oh boy.

I scratched the back of my head with one hand as I felt my expression change from horrified to sheepish.

"Erm… ok." Do I ever felt as silly as I do now?

Tailor reacted, looking out from between her fingers with an annoyed expression.

"Sorry about just now." I continued.

"Are you seriously this bad?"

"Erm, what?"

"You don't know anything about capes, their rules and the PRT, and mistook a simple bell for an Endbringer alarm. And despite that, you want to fight all the villains and clean up Brockton Bay?"

"Yes." I said immediately. There was no shame in telling the truth.

"How!? How can you do that when you don't know anything?" she hissed.

"That's actually why I need your help." I countered. "I know I don't know anything here in America, and how your government does things. Especially the way you deal with capes over here.

"The Sentai-Rangers, the Red Storms, Silver Kaze, the Black Masks, to name a few groups and solos 'masks' back in Cape Capitol, Kyushu, it's so very different from where I come from. Back there, wearing a costume there was … showmanship, advertisement. An advertisement of purpose, a sign of being assigned a great duty, a declaration of being selected for something greater than all of humanity. 'Here I am, so and so! Lay praises upon me, for I am given the mandate of heaven itself!' And the people will do so, holding them up on a pedestal, with almost religious fervor for some."

"But the flip side of that comes with this overwhelming need to serve, to sacrifice all of themselves for the needs of everyone else. The capes back where I come from were willing to throw everything aside to help the people, and I mean everything, to serve however they perceived the public needed their help. Sometimes, they will even throw away the very concept of good and bad if the crime is heinous enough. Even the Yakuza capes will help the police fight crime, you know?"

"Over here, the idea, the feeling of having powers is so… different. So individual, prideful and… alone. The culture here and the capes themselves, I just don't get it. That's why I need a local guide." I finished, gesturing at Tailor. "That's why I asked for your help."

"Wait, back up. 'Yakuza' is the Japanese name for organized crime, is it?"

"Yes."

"The capes of **criminal syndicates** help the police fight crime?" She said, an astonished look on her face.

"Yes. It's a bit funny sometimes. And not all of them, not all the time, but it happens."

"But… they're criminals!"

"Tailor," I said, suppressing the lecturing tone trying to make its way into my voice, "When you get to my age, when you learn more about the world around you, you'll find out that the world is not colored in black and white. You really can't judge people only by their labels. Just because they're called 'bad guys' does not mean they're really bad."

"That, it still doesn't make sense!"

"It wouldn't, not for a while." I replied wisely, before changing the subject. "Anyway, I hope the bell's not something urgent. What's that about?"

"Oh, it's from Brockton Bay Central Bank. I think they're getting robbed in broad daylight."

We looked at each other. The alarm continued to ring.

"What?! You got to say these things earlier!" I exclaimed, turning around. "Let's go!"

"Let's… wait, what? No!"

I jarred to a stop just before I exited the alleyway. Turning my head around, I asked. "No?"

"It's a bank robbery!" she began, "There're criminals in there! We can't just barge in there without a plan!"

"Of course we can! Let's go!" I was eager to get started.

Oh look, another facepalm.

"Ok, what am I missing?" I asked, putting away my annoyance for another time.

"It's a bank robbery, so there obviously are…?"

"People who need to be saved!"

"And robbing the bank are…?"

"Villains who need to be beaten!"

"And they may have…?"

"Knifes. Maybe guns. Sometimes a superpower or two may be involved."

There was a pause, as a frown became puzzlement, "… And if you storm in there?"

"They'll either run away, or fight me." I replied confidently.

Tailor's second palm joined her first, on her face. "_It's like herding a __**baby**__. An __**idealistic BABY**__. Like talking to… to… to __**Greg-lite**__. Oh god, deliver me from this madness._ Look, Simon," she put down both hands, looking at me straight in the eye as she spoke, "have you considered that they would harm the hostages if you kick down the bank's front door?"

"They wouldn't dare!" I exclaimed, horrified.

"That is exactly what will happen if you bash your way inside!" Tailor continued my education loudly. "Brockton Bay's full of capes, so it's very likely they'll bring some of their own, or something to deal. And either way, they will keep their hostages close as leverage! They may even have a bomb in there! We can't just barge in blindly! If we do so…"

I must admit, the thought had never really crossed my mind. But now that the possibility was presented to me, it was clear as day what the consequences could be. I mean sure, that had always been an option for the desperate. But…

I felt homesick.

"Ok, ok." I surrendered. "Criminals here are vicious bastards. But there's still that robbery. I doubt even American capes will let villains get away with this, right? What do they do in these situations?"

"… I don't know." she replied, stumped. "They… plan on what to do next?"

"Well then, let's plan. What are **we** going to do?"

There was another short pause of ringing-interrupted silence as we pondered. Then Tailor suggested, "well, there _are_ my bugs…"

* * *

Five minutes later, we were still hidden in that alleyway. It had also started raining.

And I had never felt as useless as… no. There were a few instances where I felt worse. But this certainly ranked in the top ten.

"I think I got it." Tailor said beside me, her eyes closed in concentration as she tapped on a map she had drawn using the alleyway's garbage and debris. "All the people I can feel have been moved to the bank's main hall, here. Most of them are lying down on the ground along the walls. I'm guessing those are likely hostages. Only seven people are doing anything at all, four in the vault here, and three moving in and over the hostages. I'm guessing those are the villains who are robbing the bank."

"It's easy to tell powers are involved just by looking at the shadows covering the windows. Also, there's this funny thing floating above the main hall, here, and also three more gigantic things moving up and down the bank. There will always be two staying in the center of the room, here and here, and they occasionally switch with the monster in the vault."

She opened her eyes. "Assuming different powers for different capes, we have at least Shadow and Monsters, maybe more. We're going to have to assume seven different powers to be on the safe side."

This certainly ranked in the top five of me feeling useless.

"So, any plans?" she asked, looking expectantly at me, all out of odds from her earlier confident leadership.

"How long can you keep track of them?" I asked. "And their hostages?"

"I have tagged them with houseflies. So, as long as they're in range I can sense all of them, all day long."

"Your range, how far is that?"

"Maybe the block behind it, or maybe a little more. It depends."

"Ok, then we wait. Our job here should be helping the innocents," I shuddered as I spoke, thinking of what could have happened, "and not beating the villains. We will wait for an opportune time to strike.

"I don't know how good I really am against a cape right now, so seven possibly powered opponents may be a little too much for me. Maybe when they're leaving the bank, we might get lucky and spot them splitting up or something. I just hope they do not take some of the hostages with them."

"That would suck." Tailor agreed. Her eyes closed again as she suddenly concentrated once more. "Si… err… Mister Spartan? Something's coming. They just landed in front of the bank. I think… there are six of them."

I carefully looked out of the alleyway, shoving the annoyance of Tailor's corruption of Sentai Spartan's name to one side.

Tailor was correct.

From the narrow view I had, I could see three of them. An obviously good guy dressed all in a white skintight costume with interlocking panels of glossy white body armor. To his right was a tanned youngster with a rust red costume overlaid with a shield emblem and with silver-white trims. Further to the right was an even younger child in a white and green costume with a skirt, full of wavy swooping lines.

"The wards are here." Tailor said from where she was, looking over my shoulder.

"Wards? What are…"

"Please tell me you at least know who the Wards are?" There was annoyance mixed into the question.

"I know them." I looked at Tailor; her annoyance still showed on her face. I continued, "Your version of a powered youth group, attached to the Protectorate. There are six of them in the local Wards branch. That's Clockblocker, he freezes things. The girl's Vista, she stretches space. And that's Aegis, the current leader. I don't see Shadow Stalker and Kid Win."

"The one with the red costume's Aegis, not Clockblocker."

"... right. But what are they doing here? Your Protectorate is in the habit of exposing kids to dangerous situations?"

"I donno. Practice for their future jobs in the Protectorate, maybe?"

"Never mind, I'll ask more about this later. How are our villains reacting?"

"Badly, I think. I can't hear them clearly, but there seems to be some loud sounds between small groups of them. Oh, and some of the hostages are moving. The villains are dragging them to the front door… There's some kind of speech… Here they come."

I heard something slammed from around the corner. Moments later, I saw eight people coming into view, running down the stairs of the bank. Aegis exchanged a look with Clockblocker, who signaled back for a moment. The armored teen turned back, "Everyone leaving the bank! Get down on the ground now!"

Moments later, a pebble barely larger than my palm struck the child leader square in the middle of his helmet. He fell.

Unnatural darkness covered everything immediately after.

"Shit." I said. I had seen that shadow before.

"Shit." My partner in heroism mirrored. "Six of the villains just made it out of the bank, and their monsters too. They're going to fight the wards!"

"They're going to get outnumbered, even without Aegis being taken out." I pointed out. "Wait, isn't Aegis's powers being strong and able to survive anything?"

"I don't know? He's ok? Maybe he fell in surprise?"

"Where are the bank robbers right now?" I asked.

"Erm… about… there, roughly." She pointed, before she realized where she was pointing. "They're already in the Ward's ranks!"

"Ok then." I stood up. "Tailor, you don't have a costume, so stay here and stay hidden. It's time for plan B."

"What's plan B?"

"We improvise." I said to her. And then I was gone from the alleyway.

* * *

AN:_Before you start, I did not forget BROWBEAT._


	18. Arc 4: 16

**Snip #16**

Three steps brought me to the edge of the unnatural shadow. Another step later, I was inside.

The feeling of vertigo was nearly instantaneous. 'Yup,' I thought to myself as I matched my memories of yesterday to my current situation, 'this is the same rolling carpet of disorientation I felt only just a day ago.'

I plowed onwards into the shifting darkness as best as I could, as fast as I dared. I held my arms outstretched before me, both to keep my balance as I waded into the shifting morass, and also to try to feel the things in front of me, to prevent myself from slamming into an obstacle before I reached it. Obstacles such as the mailbox I managed to feel with my fingers before bodily bumping into it.

Good, I had reached the landmark I was aiming for. At least it proved I could walk in a straight line even when I could not see in this darkness. I reoriented myself as well as I could remember where my next checkpoint was before the darkness rolled in, leaving the mailbox behind.

A few seconds and several tens of steps later, I swung my arms about. I took a few more steps, and swung my arms more.

Uh oh.

The Prius I remembered was not there. I should have reached the vehicle by now, parked to one side of the steps in front of the bank's entrance.

I took a few more steps.

The car was still not there.

The conclusion was pretty much cut and dried; I had to admit I was completely lost. As I instinctively slapped the back of my left fist, I thought, 'now what?'

I could maybe stay on this spot and wait for some kind of break. But that would be unlikely; the villain responsible for the shadow would want to keep it up and not drop it anytime soon.

I could also continue forward, I thought as I slapped another spot on my arm, scratching at the itchiness left behind on the wrist. But if I had already aimed myself wrongly, all I would be doing would be to put myself out of the fight. Sure, I might get out of the darkness first, find my bearings and then plunge back in, but that may take up time I could not afford to lose.

I slapped my fist yet again, frowning at the unwelcome interruption.

I could also retrace my steps, but I was just as certain of finding the car in front of me as I was backtracking. Not to mention I could end up where I started. I slapped my arm for the...

'Why am I slapping my arm?' I thought as I scratched the itching. The question was rhetorical, I was already thinking of the answer, 'Irritating mosquitoes! Why are they even swarming me right now!? How are they even getting to me in the darkness, and under the sleeves of my… costume…?'

The mosquitoes should not be there, period. Discounting the darkness, they would not usually crawl into tight spaces even for blood. 'Not usually'… unless they had a sudden boost of knowledge, smarts and suicidal behavior all out of odds with their usual nature.

They must have had a sudden case of 'Tailor'.

It might not be her, but once I thought of it, the idea made perfect sense. Tailor could gather a swarm and control them precisely, feel out places with the tiny critters, and tag people with them. I had seen her do that first hand only just now, marveling at how she found out everything in the bank earlier.

Speaking of which, I needed to remember to have words with her about that week-long mosquito torment of the last few…

…'Focus, Simon. Focus. Hostages need to be rescued. Do that later.' I thought as I slapped both palms on my cheeks. 'But, how do I use this?'

I just barely stopped myself from slapping another of those irritating insects. Mosquitoes biting my arm did not really give me a direction to tell me where to go after all.

Unless…

I pointed my quite itchy, mosquito savaged left fist out in front of me and a bit to the left.

Nothing happened.

Not there then, I guessed. I panned the arm slowly towards the left.

And suddenly, the tingling feelings on the back of my hand became something more, much more: a cockroach jammed itself right into the tight space between the back of my fist and my glove. I felt every movement, every bit of the tiny body against my skin, and the skin-tingling shiver of its feelers and each of its six hairy legs as it climbed into position.

'There. There is where I should go.' A satisfied feeling occupied a small portion of my mind.

_'__ICK! COCKROACH! ARGGH!'_ was my much more natural reaction as I froze solid, resisting the instinctive urge to scream out aloud, tear off my left glove, throw it onto the ground with all my might and stomp on it and stomp and stomp the offending filth-coated insect into dust with… ahem. I digress.

After I recovered from… _that_, I walked in the direction I had pointed, once again moving as fast as I dared in the shadow, keeping my left arm outstretched in front of me all the while. Luckily, my guide did not move any more than was necessary; I still had to force myself to recover from the wave of revulsion that skittered down my spine when the cockroach suddenly corrected my path by shaking all of its right legs inside my glove.

Twenty three shuffled steps later, I heard something. It was muffled, but it was an indication I was close to the shadow's edge. 'Thanks Tailor,' I thought as I slowed, readying myself, refusing to extend the earlier thought any further.

A wave of light and sound washed over me as I exited from Glue's darkness into a clearing of undarkened space surrounded by cloudy nothingness.

I concentrated, taking in as much as I could see.

The center of the fight, on the ground at least, was easy to spot. Aegis was still down where he had stood, still lying in the same puddle of rainwater after he was hit. His helmet had not been penetrated or blown apart from what I could see in the distance, but I could guess he would not recover from that blow to the head anytime soon. It was surprising given how tough he was advertised to be, but I guess even the strongest of brutes would have the brain as a weak point.

Clockblocker was standing over his teammate's vulnerable body. The young ward was bleeding profusely from three large tears in his costumes, staggering from his wounds even as he fended off multiple attacks. Even as I watched, a monstrous thing on four legs charged in towards the pair, its growling and snapping putting a pimped-up car to shame.

My respect for the Ward grew as the youth punched the monster right in the snout. He wasn't even a Brute, yet he drove the beast back. He faced down the suddenly whimpering beast, continued to stand his ground rather than abandon his teammate.

But the beast's attack was merely a distraction. A… thing descended on Clockblocker from above while he was distracted. It looked like a giant mess of lumped up noodles, a parody of a brain floating in the sky with two eyes affixed seemingly as an afterthought. It extended its appendages and grabbed the surprised Ward from behind, and despite the young hero's struggles lifted him bodily into the air.

Shit.

I knew the Wards were outnumbered. But this situation… this was bad. Very bad.

My earlier doubts about taking on all the villains by myself went out of the window. It was no longer about the odds. The Wards needed help, and they needed help now. I punched my left fist into my open right palm as I grinned despite myself and the odds I faced.

My hero debut fight, Start!

… Ah crap. I just squished the cockroach still inside my glove. Ick.


	19. Arc 4: 17

**Snip #17**

While I was debating to myself whether or not to remove the tiny insect corpse from within my gloves before I properly made my entrance, harsh lances of light shot out from above and behind me. They speared into the floating monster with small puffs of light, severing the limbs holding Clockblocker aloft. The currently more red than white cape was involuntarily let go, right on the top of the canine monster below.

As Clockblocker proceeded to play improvised rodeo with the dog in-name-only, a large shape darted by above my head, the source of the lasers. It was another kid, this one in body armor of red and gold. He stood on top of what looked like an overbuilt, complex-looking flying skateboard emitting a ruby glow behind it.

I recognized him too. Kid Win.

His damp brown hair fluttered in the rain above his red visor, a testament to the high speeds he was flying at as he expertly manipulated his streamlined vehicle with his feet. A path of ruby light trailed the air behind him, curving where the tinker had been as he took sharp, sudden turns into a tight orbit around the monster, pelting the parody of gray matter with more shots from his matching laser pistols.

The brain blob drifted while trying, and failing, to spin fast enough to face the new threat. Boneless limbs extended from the tangle of tentacles which made up its body, flailing about where it thought Kid Win would be. But the young tinker dodged the attacks with ease, performing startling changes in direction and wild acrobatic maneuvers as he continued to pour fire into his opponent.

'Well, it seems Kid Win has this covered.' I thought as I pulled on my glove back in place. Unfortunately, I could not say the same for Clockblocker; the monstrous dog had been able to throw off the now fully red costumed hero, and was shaking the helpless Ward trapped inside its mouth.

There was no time left, Clockblocker needed the help now. The Monologue of Justice would just have to wait.

For the first time in my life since I had started my training, it was time to get serious.

I leaned forward, concentrating on my target.

A weak punch from the struggling Ward landed on the dog's snout. The monster was undeterred as it started to jerk its head the other way, unwittingly exposing its jaw to me.

My knees bent below me, lowering my stance. I put a leg in front of me, preparing for the leap I was about to do.

Time seemed to slow down. The falling bits of burnt appendages from the aerial fight started to appear as if they were drifting and floating in front of me. Arcs of splattering blood hung in the air, as beautiful arcs of danger sprayed from the body in the mouth of the monster.

I raised both arms. My right forearm came down to rest at my side, parallel to the ground, with fingers already curled up in a fist. I positioned my left arm before me, raised and ready to guard.

I focused even further.

The world shrunk. The world slowed. I saw only myself, my target, and what I must do.

Now.

I leaped, my cape billowing behind me.

Whoa!

My cape had unexpectedly acted as a gigantic air brake, pulling on my neck as I had jumped forward. This had the effect of pulling my upper body backwards in mid-air, and I slid onto rather than landed on the ground, barely remaining upright as my legs led my body.

The choking sensation was… not painful, no, not at all, not one bit. But I fell short of my target, covering only a third of the distance I had expected.

No matter. I just had to make do with two additional hops to my objective.

I used my momentum to adjust myself, braking with my legs on the ground as I let my body shoot forward. Once my body was more acutely angled against the ground I jumped again, mindful of the drag of my cape.

I landed where I intended to this time, my more streamlined stance helping with the maneuver.

I pushed off again, feeling myself pick up speed even as the constriction on my neck intensified into painfulness.

Somebody had noticed my slower entrance and was shouting a warning.

It was too late for warnings. I was already there.

I landed hard onto the ground, right beside the beast, poised to strike the jaw that was my target. If I could break the monster's jaw, I would then be able to free Clockblocker.

I anchored my feet and prepared my stance. I shouted. I twisted my torso and straightened my right arm. Putting all my earlier momentum, all the fluidity of my movement behind my fist, I aimed the tip of my attack upwards at my target.

I _punched._

The monster's jaw… disappeared.

The back of its head and most of its neck… disappeared.

The Prius right behind the monster… flattened. It was nowhere near where my fist was, but the car simply became a concave pancake, as pieces from it shattered and divided themselves, flying every which way.

The sidewalk beyond the car… disappeared. The tiles cracked and shattered as they flew nearly as one, exposing the brown earth beneath.

The roof of the building behind that… exploded.

The clouds in the sky behind that... parted, revealing a clear circle of stunning blue in the sky.

The sign of the closest shop disintegrated. Another was torn in half.

The former roof of the building across from the bank resembled a wave in the air, beautiful but deadly fist-sized chunks spreading out as they flew.

A shockwave highlighted by a wave of powdered tiles slammed into the side of the building. The walls held, barely, as cracks formed across the entire length of the building.

Time resumed its normal speed in my perception.

A nearly visible shockwave of gore and splatter spread out, forming dots and patterns in the asphalt on the cracked road, or hidden inside the dark brown of the freshly exposed dirt.

Entire lines of lampposts bent and broke as the dust highlighted shockwave reached them.

A distant newspaper box went flying in four separate pieces, spreading fine paper confetti everywhere.

A fire hydrant uprooted itself, causing a fountain of water to appear right beside it.

Two large pieces of the smashed car landed in the dirt, rolling. They slammed to a stop on the cracked walls.

Finally giving up the ghost, the walls failed. Crumbling almost in slow motion, bricks and mortar reduced themselves into piles, revealing the entire length of the book shop they used to conceal.

Bricks and roof tiles fell, weirdly sounding like a sudden squall, but deeper. A small rain of somewhat larger chunky bits fell together with them, from bits of meat as small as my finger to pieces as big as my arm.

And finally, things stopped moving.

"Woah."

I realized the grunt of surprise was spoken by me as the cloud of dust started to spread back towards me. I saw the destruction before me. I saw a tile spinning lazily in the air, almost as if it was floating as it landed in the distance. I saw a brick dislodge itself from what was left of the wall, a late addition to the piles below it.

I noticed that, but I couldn't think. My thoughts blanked out. My shock was total.

The only thoughts I could manage was a simple, 'I… I did that?'

The large meaty impact of the monster was quite loud in the silence as it collapsed onto the ground to my right. At about the same time the hero formerly in its grip did the same on my left.

That jarred me out of my shock, slightly.

I looked right.

The headless body of the monster did not move.

I looked left.

Clockblocker remained where he had fallen, weakly struggling to free himself from the unattached snout of the dead beast. Through the missing half of his cracked mask, I could see his mouth shaped in a grimace of pain.

I blinked, and then slapped my cheeks with both palms, carefully, to wake myself up. This was no time to be shocked, or gawking. The Wards still needed a Hero to even the odds.

I pushed the snout off him easily enough, and looked down. "Hey, are you all right?" I asked.

He coughed, and coughed again, each act spilling more blood onto his dark red uniform. Raising an arm, he gave me a thumbs up.

I got to admire his guts, even as they were spilling out of him.

That was when I noticed Aegis, as well as the person kneeling over him, with one hand on his chest and another grabbing onto his wrist, as if to measure a pulse. She was dressed in a professionally built, form-fitting black armor, with panels smoothly arranged to give a shapely appearance akin to a dinner dress. And she was frozen in place as she looked at me in shock, eyes wide behind her mask.

I could not blame her, as I felt the same myself moments earlier.

But there was one thing I could not figure out. Why did Shadow Stalker have a red sun motif printed onto her costume?


	20. Arc 4: 18

**Snip #18**

I immediately rushed towards the first victim of the fight, just as concerned about Aegis as Shadow Stalker appeared to be.

She flinched and screamed the moment I moved, a classic ear-splitting high pitched one which could only really come from a female. She also cowered away from me, a hand in front of her as if I was too bright to see and the other clutching onto Aegis's ungloved hand as if her life depended on it.

Not even a moment later, a car flew right past me, spinning in the air as it zoomed by at incredible speeds. It shot past some distance from my right shoulder, but two or three feet of room was entirely too close for comfort for a projectile that size and speed. The wake of its passage creating winds strong enough to pull at me and my cape.

The flying car finally crashed onto the road, tumbling with wild abandon as it lost momentum and metal parts.

It had come quite close to hitting Shadow Stalker too.

Well that explained why she was shrieking.

I spun around, searching. I found my attacker easily. There was only one person in view around the approximate origin of the earlier catapulted vehicle, and his clothing screamed 'cape'. He wore black and red bulky armor topped by a square mask, and he appeared to be somewhat athletic if not overly muscled under the armor.

And above all I was very sure he was my assailant because I watched as he reached out a hand to touch one of several vehicles parked at the side of the road. Suddenly I was getting a closer, more-detailed-by-the-millisecond view of the same vehicle launched towards me at high speeds.

The hunk of metal was already halfway to me by the time I could think of how to react. There was no time to hesitate, or to think of something better. My course of action was clear; there were two people behind me. Even if they were quite a bit to one side of the rapidly approaching vehicle's path, the risk was clearly unacceptable.

I sidestepped the improvised bullet. As soon as it was beside me, I flung out both of my arms towards the danger, using the heels of my hands to push rather than a fist to punch.

There was an impact.

The car flew onwards in its new trajectory towards the evacuated sidewalk with a new crater smashed into its door.

There was already another car in the air by the time I was done. I did the same to that one, in the opposite direction of the first vehicle. In the slight lull I noticed my assailant reaching for another pair of cars, which he launched at me at the same time. I only barely managed to get into the middle of both frames, using a hand each to push them apart and away.

As I was shifting and turning, batting the cars out of the air, I saw movement from the corner of my eye. Behind me, a massively muscled person was running towards us. He dodged a bit as I pushed another car over our heads, and resumed his running, rapidly covering the ground between us. He would soon reach the injured Wards behind me.

He was… massive was a good word to describe him, only a bit taller than me but a lot broader, thicker. His biceps alone were probably the size of my head, and he would definitely not be out of place in one of those Olympic weightlifting events.

His costume was just like mine in the sense that it was mostly spandex, but that was where the similarities ended; his costume did not have any armor plates attached, fake or otherwise and it was dark blue with meshes of diamond prints. As a mask, he wore a full-face, form fitting hood with eye holes cut out. It had some kind of diamond-shaped crystal attached to the forehead but was otherwise lacking in accessories.

Let me see now... Gallant looked like a knight, Vista was a child and a girl, Aegis was down, Clockblocker was awesome but bleeding out, Kid Win was being really awesome and Shadow Shrieker was still here screaming her pretty little head off.

Nope. I could not recall any bodybuilder Wards.

Soon enough, the muscled villain had reached us. One of the weightlifter's hands reached out, aiming to grab both the too easily incapacitated Aegis and the Ward's really emotional, situationally-blind team member for his nefarious purposes.

Not on my watch.

I pushed the next catapulted bombardment out of the way and spun on the spot. My stance was already suitably low to the ground so I jumped immediately, a little hop compared to the distance I covered earlier.

Landing in front of the surprised assailant, I let my momentum flow through my fist as I…

_The roof exploded. The skies parted. The monster's head…_

… pulled my punch back as soon as I realized what I almost did. I tried to reduce the strength of my punch even more. My thoughts were full of _'oh shit oh shit oh shit oh…'_ as I attempted to miss.

As my fist slammed into the side of his head, I realized that it was too late.

_'__Shit.'_

A corner of my mind noticed my own wide eyed stare and clenched jaw. I cringed as the mental image of a meat explosion, of half of his body disappearing in a shower of…

"Ouch!" was his underwhelming response to my attack.

Oh.

Oh phew.

I let out a little choke of relief.

He looked like the typical, what was it… ah, 'Brute' with his muscular body, but I could not be sure if he was also one for real. So, thank god for small mercies.

He recovered from my attack quite quickly, all told. Astonished eyes looked at me below the diamond-highlighted mask. "Hey!" he shouted, "Aren't you helping..."

I did not allow him to talk further. I 'jabbed' him harder once again on his head, but right below the chin instead. I made sure all of my punches I was throwing against him were stronger than the attacks I would use against street thugs, but I did not dare ramp it up too much.

He recovered wordlessly, bringing down his head to look at me as he threw a wild haymaker of his own.

I jabbed him again.

I felt some amount of satisfaction and relief when he finally acquired the far-off look of concussion induced unconsciousness. His knees buckled, his arms flopped to his sides and he keeled over much like a tree. I even felt the vibrations from the road as his bulky form slammed onto the earth.

Alright. 'Attacking the brain is the best way to take out a Brute'. Lesson learned. I wished the latest victim to my fists could have joined the Wards; he seemed to be able to take a hit better than 'out in one' Aegis here lying at my feet, at least. But I digress. It was… WOAH!?

I barely had the time to smack the car out of the way, almost falling down in my haste to push the mass of a small economy car upwards. I looked back towards the earlier villain; mister Square had just launched a large, bulky pickup truck at me. He had plenty of time and practice to adjust his shots; the accuracy of the improvised bullet was dead on, directly centered on me.

It was time to end this improvised game of artillery catch.

I spun my torso, bringing my right arm back.

I did not restrict myself as I had earlier. This was a car, not a person.

I spun my body back.

I punched.

My fist plowed right into the front of the truck, burying my arm into the innards. I felt the tip of my attack dig straight through the soft hollow metals of the radiator before finally impacting with something hard.

The truck abruptly stopped in the air, causing the back of the vehicle to push into the front, crumpling what was between with the momentum involved as it acquired an accordion-like shape. Pieces of the truck smashed, tore or sheared off, flung away from the impact in a flat fan-like disk of debris perpendicular to me and the vehicle. The bonnet survived mostly in one piece, only bent into a 'V' as it detached itself and launched straight up into the sky.

And a hole opened up at the back of the truck. The engine block exited in one piece, blasting through the truck's cargo bed as it parted ways with the rest of the vehicle. The now unrecognizable, slightly convex slab of solid metal flew back the way it came, back towards my attacker as I had intended. He did not even have the time to react before my reply to his attacks flew past him and slammed right into the car beside him.

The body of what was left of the folded truck I had punched fell right at my feet. I extracted my arm from the middle of the wreck, raised it in his direction and waved my fingers above my open palm, a 'come hither' gesture.

The car throwing cape took a look behind him and saw the result of my punch: a six car pileup caused by my engine projectile, robbing him of his ammunition. He turned shakily to look back at me and finally fell down on his knees in shock and awe.

I did not have the opportunity to observe his reaction further before I felt the light dimming; the shadow of the noodle monster had fallen on me as it descended. A bundle of surprisingly dry but unsurprisingly flexible, boneless limbs dropped down to where I was, curling as they grabbed at me.

I reacted at once, jabbing in rapid succession with my left, trading strength for speed. Four of the appendages were forced back, but a thick bundle of them took their place.

I punched much faster, clearing a spot of safety around me, keeping the inhuman extremities away from me and more importantly the two Wards under my protection.

A whole jungle of living vines dropped down at me in response, trying to overwhelm me with numbers, attacking from every direction.

Suddenly, the entire scene was tinted red. Kid Win zoomed past my field of vision, snipping away at the tentacles attempting to grab me. He did not get them all, but he succeeded for the large part, and the few which were still attached to the floating monster were easily removed by my punches.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I raised a hand to begin a wave of thanks… and my surroundings blinked.

Wha?

My surroundings changed again, everything I could see and hear becoming different from one moment to the next. Sounds shifted, combatants disappeared and directions changed.

I recognized the steps of the bank. Steps I was standing on. But I was on the other side of the road just moments earlier.

The hell was going on?

I heard another shriek to my right, an accompaniment to Shadow Stalker's continued screaming. I turned to look.

Vista was being lifted even as she screamed and struggled. But the monster was stronger as it managed to manhandle and lift the ward off the ground. With its few remaining appendages, it looked like Vista was at the end of several strings connected to a floating purple balloon made of leather.

Kid Win zoomed in once again… and suddenly he seemed to trip in mid-air. He fell out of the sky uncontrollably, separated from his skateboard, before he bounced off the balloon monster and landed badly on the ground.

I winced, even as I prepared to jump in to help the latest downed Ward.

I did not get the chance to see or do much more, because my entire world hiccupped again, putting me right in front of a person dressed similarly to a medieval knight.

I realized Gallant had shot out something just as the glowing blast hit me right on the chest.


	21. Arc 4: 19

A/N: This will replace the current **Snip #19**, which will be relabeled **Interlude 3**. The other interlude of the bank job arc will be relabeled **Interlude 4**.  
**  
Snip #19**

The ball of energy washed over me, a rainbow of colored ribbons forming a mess of movement as it unraveled from my body.

And in the very next moment, I felt rage. I felt wild, red-tinted rage in intensities I had rarely felt, a torrent of all-consuming emotion, a roaring tsunami of animalistic attack instincts. It washed over me, swamping the towers of rational thought and removing them from my body's control. I felt my heart pounding, spreading the pureness of the expression of destruction to every corner of my body.

I looked in front of me, my vision tainted red. I glared at the immediate item of interest standing before me. In the turmoil of my rage, a single name floated up into my consciousness, resolving the meaning of the humanoid standing in front of me. Gallant the kid hero, in the guise of the armored knight.

The silver figure flinched as our eyes met, or so I presumed, in the darkness of his pointed helm; his head flinched, a sharp jerk backwards, an obvious reaction as I bared my teeth and snarled. The kid hero took a step back as he raised his arms even further than he had, his open palms held in between us, placed in between our heads.

He was shielding his eyes from my glare, I realized, as if I was too bright to behold.

'I was, wasn't I?' what was left of rational thought whispered to me. I was training to be a hero, to **BE** a hero in all of its aspects. I would face my problems head on as a hero would, and I would act like one at all times, facing my threats with all of my self.

Unlike this child right here.

Gallant was whimpering something unheard as he fell back from me, as he continued to hold his arms in front of him without rhyme or purpose other than to deny me in his fear. A tinkling could be heard as he stepped back, an almost musical series of taps between the metals of his armor as he literally shook in his boots.

He stepped back yet again… a simple act he somehow fumbled. A simple step he could not take, for no other reason than his fear, his wanting to run away. A clatter of metal on asphalt rang out as he fell.

I clenched my fist as I advanced. My blood boiled as I frowned further, my snarl graduating into a growl as a single thought looped over and over again.

What an utter failure of heroism in a 'hero'.

I advanced on the child 'hero' as he sat in the middle of the road. He threw up his hands again, palms outwards towards me…

And the world blinked. Suddenly, I was facing the shattered remains of a Prius. A moment later, I was back where I was, facing down the hero yet again.

'God Damned Villains', my rage shouted at me in the hollow of my churning thoughts, showing itself in the snarl on my lips, 'Interrupt me again, and I will **KILL** you!'

The kid hero was scrabbling now. With the animalistic opposite of what I felt, he tried to move himself backwards on the surface of the road, kicking and pushing with his arms and legs as he tried to get some distance, any distance, away from me. In his wild panic, the uncoordinated limbs did not do much at all, only cutting gouges in the tar.

I took a few more steps forward, and loomed over the kid as I reached him. He looked away as he whimpered, a sad little voice asking, 'please?'

"**STAND! UP!**" I roared, letting out some of the chaos of my swirling thoughts.

_'… __don't… I…__'_

The boiling in my veins reached an apex, and I erupted. I reached down with my left hand and grabbed him by the pauldron of his suit, bending the metal there slightly in my haste and fury. I ignored his panicked yelp as I hoisted him up onto his feet, and without waiting for him to recover, I looked at and pointed away with my right hand, prompting him to look at the scene before us.

The balloon villain continued to bind Vista in its limbs, using the flexible, thin appendages as rope as floated above where the defeated heroes laid scattered and lost.

"LOOK!" I waved at the ruin of all that was good, "LOOK AT THAT!" I turned back to glare back into the black between his visor's slits, "AND YOU CALL YOURSELF A **HERO!?**"

_'… __yes? I…__'_

He did not get it. He really did not get it. With a guttural growl fueled by the fire of my gut, I slammed my forehead onto his helm and whispered loudly into his face, "You don't understand heroism. This is not heroism. This, this right here, is the utter failure of heroism. Your teammates are down, defeated badly by villains. You're here, whole but shaking in your boots doing nothing. This, this is not what heroes should do. This is not what heroes **are**."

_'__but…__'_

"**THAT IS NOT WHAT HEROES DO!**" I shouted right into the kid's face, my nose mashing itself against the pointed peak of Gallant's helm.

The kid went limp in my hands, his limbs losing power as his head lolled back, and for a moment I thought he passed out. I grabbed him on his other pauldron with my right hand and shook him once. Twice. His arms jerked as he startled awake, but stopped when I pulled him to me, staring daggers into his visor yet again.

"Heroes," I started whispering again, the heat of my blood somehow reduced slightly from that of simmering lava to only that of a raging inferno, "**True** Heroes never give up, never surrender. That doesn't mean they have to always attack; a smart hero is allowed to fall back, to reconsolidate, to try something else. But ultimately to have a heroic spirit means they must try, and try again and again until the obstacle is overcome.

"But there is one exception to that, the one thing true heroes will never, ever, do: abandon their nakama. If allies and friends are in trouble, a hero, a **True** Hero must never abandon them. If he is able to act, he should, he will, he must. A hero **never** leaves his fallen behind, in the mercy of his enemies, to face death or worse in the hands of Villains, you got that?!"

There was a long silence, and I was thinking Gallant had passed out again when he replied.

_'__yes… but what can I do? I can't do anything...__'_

"Of course you can't," as my blood began to warm again, a sensation that was somehow different from the fury before, "You've already given up before you began."

_'__but what can I even use that can…__'_

"**THIS!**" I yelled as I let go of the silver knight, pumping my right fist in front of his visor, answering his obvious question, "**WITH RIGHTEOUS FURY!**"

He fell onto his knees as soon as he was let go. He looked up at me.

Perhaps he really did need an example after all.

I gathered the rest of my rage, the boiling emotion focused to a single point, a single enemy. I felt time slowing further than it ever had, slower than the distorted yell which left through gritted teeth. I turned my head slightly, just enough to see the purple balloon creature floating in the sky, an easy target for an already clenched fist burning with inevitability.

I leapt, my left fist leading the way. Air parted before me, a visible cone of dust-free air forming around me as I flew the short distance.

I jumped, kicking down with both feet as soon as I reached a spot below the floating monster. Rocks, dirt and shattered road followed me up as I flew arrow straight, aimed right into the center mass of the villain being.

Within moments, I was there. A fraction of a split second later, my left fist was sunk inside the abhorrent creature, causing large ripples of skin to form on its surface.

I punched.

At first, my right fist sunk into the leathery purple skin of the floating creature much as my left fist had, causing more ripples to chase after those that had disappeared.

And then, a tear formed on the purple leather. And another. And then a lot more. Jagged lines raced along the surface of the unnatural skin in the silence of the slowed down world, forking off much like a lightning bolt in a storm.

Blood and viscera erupted from the tears as they spread. The spots which had remained whole started to bulge instead, suddenly fat with pressure as the monster's interior strained against the tough skin.

And, as final as it was sudden, the monster exploded. Meaty chunks of the monster broke loose from the creature, pieces large and small flung in all directions.

I looked down, towards where Gallant sat kneeling, wondering if he had learnt anything by this display of force.I saw Vista instead, halfway through a swing to one side below me, still caught inside the thick rope of tentacles surrounding her.

A particularly large chunk of the exploding monster was headed right at her.

There was no time to think. I flipped in mid-air and kicked off the largest bit of what was left of the balloon, setting me on a course towards the green-clad hero. As soon as I reached her, I broke and grabbed onto the bundles that held her captive, carefully spooling out what I held so as not to accelerate the person at the end of my improvised towing line.

What could I say; I read obscure American comics too. I did not want to kill anyone because of avoidable whiplash.

As soon as my feet touched the ground, I looked up and grabbed the falling Vista from the air with both my arms. Holding her in a bridal carry, with a hand firmly behind the child hero's head, I leapt yet again.

* * *

I carefully, slowly let Vista off as soon as it was safe to where we were on top of the bank. My aim had been true; we were on the roof, only just outrunning the meaty shockwave's destruction by getting above and beyond it.

"ARE YOU…" I began asking Vista, before I realized I was still clenching my teeth, still shaking from the fury I felt earlier.

Anger. Why anger? What was wrong with me?

'Oh, right,' I remembered, 'Gallant shot me with…'

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts and shaking off the last vestiges of anger in my thoughts. I started again, "Are you all right?"

I was surprised when Vista's arms stretched, boneless elongated things bending funnily through the space around me, and wrapped themselves around my neck. Their owner followed the limbs up the next moment, the strength of her hold on me lifting her from the roof as her power shut off.

Vista hugged me with all her strength, chanting "thank you" several times in rapid succession.

I smiled.

**That** was what a true hero should be.

And then I winced.

I guess I owe that armored kid an apology...


	22. Arc 4: Interlude 3

Sorry for the delay guys. My writing ability hadn't been cooperating much lately. I'm hoping the Muse's better now.

**Interlude #3  
**

**Taylor**

My mouth was open.

Despite the accumulated rainwater pooling into my mouth, it had taken me quite some time to realize my mouth was open, but even after the realization had made itself known it was not enough to move me from my stasis. I just continued to stand there, watching.

A sudden cascade of roof tiles pattered down from the broken roof of that building, onto the mass of crushed metal that used to be a car, lying on the dirt which used to be a sidewalk, the tiles shattering and bouncing into the chasm that used to be a wall.

I felt as if I was trapped in my body, because all I could bring myself to do was observe myself. I knew I should move to help, but I did not. My brain felt as if it was stuck in molasses, slow and unhelpful, unable to think of what to do next. And there was a persistent feeling of loss in the back of my mind, of something missing when it should be there. Much like a memory I couldn't remember.

My eyes continued to stare at the wreck of a building, but I still saw Simon in the corner of my eyes, as he fended off flying cars, as he protected Aegis from a wrestler-styled cape I did not know, as he left Sundancer behind to tend to the fallen Hero, as he finally won the cape-powered projectile contest with another earthshattering...

Wait, what?

Sundancer?!

What were the Travelers doing here? No, wait, that's not the question I should be asking! Why was Sundancer cradling Aegis in the… No, not the correct question either! Why was… why was Simon leaving Sundancer behind? She's a Villain! It's not as if anyone could mistake her for a Ward or a Hero! The only one of them who looked even remotely similar to Sundancer was Shadow Stalker, and that's only because they shared the same black theme… with an anti-hero vibe…

I remembered Simon pointing out the wrong Ward earlier.

Almost as if on automatic, my hand reached up and covered my eyes, fingers rubbing both my temples. I spat out the rainwater before I let out a long, justified sigh.

That that… _THAT… HE DIDN'T! NGGGGGGHHH!_

I stopped myself before I could think of a descriptive word I would later regret. Putting my efforts into salvaging the problems caused by my partner's mistaken identity issues instead, I acted… and finally noticed what the missing something was.

Simon's earlier punc… attack had created a pressurized blast wave that cleared the area in front of the bank, a shockwave strong enough to blow out all the windows in the area and knock some of the capes off their feet. It had also obliterated the swarm I had gathered before I could use it, as well as most of the insects in the area around the front of the bank.

Great.

I went to work, regathering what I could from around me, the insects lucky enough to have avoided the pressure wave. They crawled out from the crevasses and corners, from behind buildings and through cracks in drain covers, from every nook and cranny that had made them safe. As they swarmed and prepared, I looked out into the fight again, trying to decide where I should move my swarm.

Only a handful of the insects I had used to tag people were left, and Kid Win's cockroach was one of those, protected where it was under the straps of his left boot. Thus, I felt rather than saw Kid Win as he zoomed back into the fight, probably to target the purple construct again.

I felt the exact moment when the movement of the cockroach suddenly hiccupped, and my eyes widened as it fell from the sky. It abruptly winked out, either dead or stunned the moment the Ward had hit the ground where the others were.

Shit, that had to hurt. Luckily, he landed right where the other downed Wards were, and despite Simon's mistake with Sundancer, Simon was right there to... A shriek covered the air. I still couldn't see anything, so I cautiously poked my head out of the dumpster I was hiding behind and peeked.

Make that four downed Heroes in the same area.

More importantly, where did Simon go? The Wards would be dangerously exposed without him there!

The swarm still wasn't as big as I had hoped, but it would have to do. With a gesture I didn't really need, I sent it into the fight.

**Brian (Grue)**

My body was tense, every muscle screaming to do something, anything. My breathing was short and shallow, loud inside the confines of my helmet. I itched to shout, to flail about, to just do something, and do it now.

I was almost tempted to follow my fear and run away right then. Just turn my body around, start moving my legs, and leave.

Almost.

I forced myself to calm down, to breath slowly and rhythmically.

As much as I wished to, I couldn't. My team was committed, and so as their leader I was committed. I needed to get them out.

There was no way I'd leave them behind.

The additional capes fighting beside us only just reinforced the point. Abandoning any allies almost rubbed me the wrong way as much as abandoning my team, even if the Travellers were temporary allies 'helpfully hired' to 'assist' us for this job.

Or more accurately, they were a 'hint' by our 'boss', a vague pressure that was as clear as day to persuade us into doing this job despite our opinion on the matter.

The nagging voice of worry came back again. Our 'shadowy mastermind' could easily hire this level of firepower on a moment's notice. Why was he interested in forming and using the Undersiders, then? What was his game?

I made a mental note to ask Lisa who our 'boss' was again, to hell with his secrecy. It would probably be deflected by yet another 'reminder' of the benefits my 'sponsor' was granting me, of how he was helping me with my sister's situation in the government system. But I made a note to try again nonetheless.

The legal assistance was starting to feel like a shackle instead of a benefit as of late.

I shook my head and focused, clearing my mind of unnecessary thoughts. Now was no time to be daydreaming.

At least we had the Travelers here with us, something to be glad of in this clustered effing screw-up. After all, the newest arrival to this bank robbery had just demonstrated just how crazily powerful he was. We would need all the help we could get to get away.

As if to validate my point right after I made it, the high-tiered caped cape disappeared and was replaced by an astonished Vista.

Good. If anyone could keep that roof-wrecking super-cape busy, Trickster could. Now was the perfect opportunity to live up to our unofficial PHO nickname of 'the Masters of Escape'.

"Regent! We're leaving! Go get Tats!" I shouted as I threw my shadow in front of Ballistic, covering him from view, hoping he would get the hint to retreat now that he was out of sight.

"What about the money!?" Regent shouted back, already moving.

"FUCK the money!" I shouted, unsuccessfully keeping the anger and bitterness out of my voice. I turned around. "Genesis, keep them pinned!"

The floating purple monster gurgled as it slowly descended, probably in response to my command. Tentacles lashed out almost lazily, grabbing hold of the only uninjured Ward below it and lifting the shrieking girl off the ground. More of its remaining limbs gathered, warpping the trapped teenage Hero into a cocoon. Its one yellow eye shifted left and right, an orb the size of a dinner plate looking at each incapacitated Hero below, searching for new threats as it drifted.

I turned again towards my right, both to look away as well as to turn towards where Bitch was. I realized I was muttering about things being 'not right', and stopped that.

I cleared my throat before commanding authoritatively, "Bitch, take your dogs and…"

Bitch was not where she had been.

I swore as I immediately realized where she would have gone.

**Krouse (Trickster)**

"Dance for me, boy." I hammed it up in my persona as Trickster as I spotted my next target to use with the newest arrival in the cape fight. I waited for the moment Gallant fired his bolt of weaponized emotion at a surprised Regent before I activated my power. "Dance."

The people on both ends of my power flickered as they swapped positions with each other, and I watched with satisfaction as Gallant's shot hit the yellow caped-and-spandexed brute. I was just about to send the para-pugilist on another disorienting teleport when a single word interrupted me.

"Shit."

I turned my attention to the ally I was stuck with inside the bank, for a given value of 'ally'. Tattletale was with me at one of the front windows of the bank. But while I was looking out, exposing myself to danger in order to help the fight, she was whimpering and cringing below the window, having ducked out of sight.

Yeesh, talk about cowardly 'allies'. There was 'support powers not suitable for combat', and there was being fucking useless. I cocked my head in fake puzzlement as I dragged out a mocking "Yeessss?"

"We're in trouble," the disappointingly cowardly Undersider tried to say matter-of-factly, but she was unable to keep a slight tremble from her words as she crawled on all fours towards a windowless part of the wall, "Gallant just shot rage at that guy…"

I frowned.

I suspected Tattletale wasn't really a 'psychic, mind-reading' cape as she had introduced herself, but I had found the smug irritant's guesses were mostly surprisingly accurate. It didn't stop me from wanting to claw her pointed smile from her face, but I managed to restrain myself just enough for a working relationship.

I had worked with worse for less, after all.

Then again, her powers were definitely not flawless, and all the proof I needed was right outside the window; she had only predicted at most three or four of the Wards turning up. It was something to keep a note of in future dealings.

But I still paused as I looked back, her words tumbling in my mind.

Tattletale's _guesses_ had matched what I knew about Gallant. I had looked up what the knightly Ward could do from rumors, our boss's information and some online research, but I had also been in enough fights with the Protectorate and their Wards too. The cape-managing government agency of this world always seemed to want to hide secrets, and I wouldn't bet against some nasty surprises hiding in their capes' official powers listing online, in the PHO wiki and elsewhere.

But all I could really do about all that was to be a bit more cautious than usual; I could only work with what I had after all. And if what I'd been told were right and Gallant had just inflicted an emotional debuff on the caped brute, then perhaps...

She said 'Rage' didn't she? I could use this.

I looked back out of the bank's windows. The ludicrous punching cape had already taken a step forward towards the armored Ward, followed by another. On the other hand, Gallant had tried to retreat, but had somehow managed to trip and end up sitting on the floor. He was now leaning backwards as he held both of his arms in front of him, his body language screaming 'don't come here!'

Taking an educated guess, I felt around the battlefield and found what I needed. I attached a thread of my power to both points right at the moment I saw Gallant's arms glow and activated it immediately.

Gallant's colorful bolt hit a mailbox, whatever effect he had in the shot wasted on the inanimate unfeeling object. I switched back the red caped cape as soon as the light started to fade.

It always felt extremely good when things went according to plan.

"Don't!" Tattletale interrupted my smile as she backed away from the window. "Gallant will get killed!"

I ignored her. She was repeating what I already knew, that the Protectorate will come down hard on us if someone died here.

Sheesh, did she think I'm a killer, on top of everything else? I had killed before, true, and I had caused my share of deaths… but those were because of circumstances, not because of… and I was distracted. Good grief, nice help there, 'ally'.

I paid attention to the pieces of my ongoing plan. The spandexed brute reacted to his re-arrival by taking another step forward. For his part, Gallant scrambled to move away from the attention-grabbing brute, kicking and pushing on the ground. But due to his metallic costume sliding on the concrete floor, he did not get much traction, and had moved only a little from his spot.

"Trickster!? Don't! Getting a Ward killed will…"

"Don't worry, we're perfectly safe here." I almost sneered as I interrupted her, as I paid as little attention as needed to shut her up. I needed to concentrate elsewhere after all, and I knew it would be precisely the thing to tick her off. But she was being useless, and so she deserved that. "That's the prefect distraction for us to get away. And it's not even our fault to begin with."

"STAND! UP!" the cornerstone of my new plan shouted.

I continued to watch the scene, a red glove of the rage-filled shouter reaching forward towards the Ward. The rage-filled target continued his shouting as he grabbed hold of the armor and lifted the Ward up onto his feet with the one hand, while pointing with the other. "LOOK! LOOK AT THAT! AND YOU CALL YOURSELF A HERO!?"

Tattletale was just about to say something when I interrupted her again, "It's risky, but I'll be careful. Either way if he roughs up the Wards, or he decides to come after us, well, my powers are a perfect counter to Brutes."

And they were. Brutes, even those with movement enhancement up to and including Alexandra herself couldn't really beat line of sight. And line of sight was how my power worked. Once I could see them, they were in my clutches.

And no matter how much strength a Brute had, they were always all variants of punches and kicks; some of them may be able to pull out additional surprises and tricks from nowhere, but as long as I could see the Brute and had one end of my power's 'string' attached, I was confident I could redirect anything they could do all day long, never giving them the chance to come close to hurting anyone I didn't want to.

Gallant had said something, but his reply was shouted down by a voice which could double as a loudspeaker, "THAT IS NOT WHAT HEROES DO!"

Tattletale looked back at me as a frown formed on her face. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before she said, "But…"

"THIS! WITH RIGHTEOUS FURY!" The walking large ham interrupted Tattletale with another shouted statement, shaking a fist right in front of Gallant's helmet.

"No buts," I interrupted her right after. "Just watch and learn."

As long as I have my eyes on that brightly clad, red-and-yellow colored, attention grabbing…

My powers twanged, a feeling I had never felt before.

I blinked in surprise.

I felt at my power. It was still stretched and active, and was still attached between a mailbox and… Gallant.

What? My attached powers lost a connection? That had really never happened before!

Where was the brightly clad, red-and-yellow colored, attention grabbing cape?

"Genesis!" Tattletale cried out from behind me as she dived onto the ground.

I turned my head towards Jess's latest monstrous projection, just in time to see a blur of red and yellow disappear behind its large purple bulk.

I barely had the time to react before everything exploded.

A shockwave of air blasted into the bank's façade. Through the already glassless windows, dust and debris combined into an invisible punch as they slammed past me and almost pushed me flat onto my back. I stumbled, but stayed upright, barely holding on by using a hand on the window frame.

I forced myself to look up against the pressure of the wind… just in time to see a second wave, a shower of power-created make-believe viscera and blood, dissolving into inky smoke even as they slammed into…

**Taylor**

_"__NOT AGAIN!"_

**Missy (Vista)**

I was released. I landed on my knees. My body shook.

I could still feel the things. I could still feel the stringy things. I could still feel them, wrapping all over and around me. I could still remember trying to get free of them. I could still feel them all.

"ARE YOU…" I heard someone clear a throat, "are you all right?"

I looked up and saw a man. He towered over me as he leaned forward, and he was looking at me. It was obvious he had powers; he had a costume. He wore a yellow, tight costume in the shade of a deep red cape. The sun was just behind his head, blinding me so I could not see much at all, but I thought I could see his clothes wrapping around his head and neck.

It was sort of like Velocity's costume, where his shirt had a hood which was also his mask.

I reacted without thinking, warping space so he was within my reach, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. The words came out in a rush. "Thank you thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou …"

"No problem, miss. No problem. You are safe, you're all right now," he replied.

I continued to tightly hang onto my rescuer, chanting the same words again and again as I hugged him… until I heard annoyance in his voice as he asked, "Can you please let go now? I still have people to save."

Embarrassed, I stammered a half-pronounced grunt of apology as I let go.

He gave me a smile as he leaned down again, and patted me on the head.

I surprised myself by not feeling mad about that as I sniffed, rubbing at my eyes and cheeks.

And then he was gone.

I looked around.

I recognized where I was; I was on the rooftop of the bank. It was built much the same as any other roof in Brockton Bay; I could see a fire escape in the corner, and there was the protruding room of the roof access.

And there was also a recently created hole in the middle of the roof.

A person dressed in white floated out of the hole, carrying another girl in her arms in a bridal style. She spotted me as easily as I identified her, Glory Girl, New Wave's teenage brute. She looked amused as she floated almost carefully over to me, although she had a hint of a frown on her face too. She carefully placed her human cargo down beside me once she reached me.

I recognized Panacea immediately, despite her civilian clothes.

"I'll be right back," Glory Girl said, smiling from ear to ear as she looked my way.

I didn't know why, but I felt like snapping at the New Wave cape. But she was already gone by the time I started saying anything.

Without anyone else to talk to, I turned towards Panacea.

"Hi." I said.

"Hi." She nodded.

And… silence. And awkwardness. And silent awkwardness.

We both looked down. I couldn't think of anything to say, settling for only taking the occasional shy glimpse at each other as we both shrunk into our lonely silent bubbles.

We both jumped when an almost inhuman, high pitched scream reached us.

_"__DON'T HURT ME, DON'T HURT ME, PLEASE DON'T! I GIVE UP, PLEASE, I SURRENDER!"_

_"__...not making sense! You're a Hero, right? I'm a Hero too!"_

_"__Please! I… I…?"_

We looked at each other. I was sure my face had the same astonished, startled expression I was looking at. Her expression changed into relief, before she collapsed into giggles.

I realized I was laughing along with the New Wave healer too.

Everything just felt so silly, suddenly.

**Simon**

'Well, that was a thing,' I thought as I stood up. I had finally managed to calm down Shadow Stalker by reaffirming I was a Hero, a fact I had to repeat several times to get the child Hero to understand.

Me! Misidentified as a villain! Imagine that!

I threw out my cape to the side as I turned around. I had already taken a step forward, moving to where I remembered the injured Wards were, intent on carrying them to safety where Vista was. I moved my head, quickly scanning the whole area from left to right, looking for threats.

Something caught my eye.

The body of the monster moved. Its dead flesh jiggled.

I raised my hands cautiously into a guard.

A row of horns protruding from its side collapsed as more of the dead monster's flesh sloughed off.

"Oh," I said, my caution answered and appeased.

But as I was about to turn away, I head something.

Whispers.

_" __Judas. Fuck, live! Jud…"_

And it was followed by an unexpected bark, an unmistakably canine sound. It was however not loud or sharp, sounding as if the dog had a cross between a sore throat and a drowning experience.

And there were more whispers.

I walked forward, towards the voices. I turned around the body of the monster. I looked down.

There was a woman kneeling there looking up at me. Her thick eyebrows were raised above wide eyes and a broken nose, placed on a somewhat square face topped with messy, somewhat short blond hair. She was also big in stature, 'big' as in bulky but not fat, and it was obvious she was also quite well-built, almost athletic.

She wore a shirt and jeans, the tattered sleeves and faded colors a testament to the durable clothing, although it was obvious they had seen much better days. And there was something in her appearance, stance, gruffness, and even how she seemed to ignore the liquid grit, but I had the curious feeling that she was almost like a man.

Oh, and her clothes, her exposed arms, and even her face and unruly hair were slick with some kind of slimy liquid. The dog in her hands was equally slimed, being half in her tight embrace and half buried in a jagged hole in the monster's underside.

It barked again, weakly.

I admit I was a bit curious at what was going on here. I took another step forward.

Her reaction to my step was immediate. She yelped wordlessly as she jumped to her feet. Grabbing the poor dog by both its front paws, she pulled it. But she did not pull at it directly out of the hole, instead pulling the dog at an angle away from me.

The dog whimpered and whined as it was stretched, but with a pop and another rush of liquid, and some additional meaty solid chunks too, it was pulled free.

Ah. I think I got it.

"Oh," I said, "These monster dogs have actual doggies buried inside them?! How evil! Let me help!"

"Stay back!" the woman shouted with a rough voice, again add to her butch-like appearance. She held the feebly struggling dog tightly in her hands as she shouted again, "Fucking stay away!"

I looked directly at her and added a smile of sincerity, making sure to show my teeth. I lifted my arms in front of me as I said, "There are two other dog monsters, right? I can stop them with no problem at all!"

She turned as pale as snow as she trembled. Poor girl. She was obviously concerned about those trapped dogs, but was obviously unable to deal with those monsters. It must have been hell.

"Don't worry," I added as I petted the body beside us. "One monster-removing punch later, and we can get them! I'll have them out in no time!"

She was trembling so hard by now she almost let go of the dog she was holding. She took a few more steps backwards, away from me.

"There's nothing to worry about at all! I'm a Hero!" I concluded my pitch. "I'll … oh. Shhhh… shhhh…There's one of those monsters behind you... hold on…"

She looked backwards, at one of the beasts, and she looked towards me as I took a stance. Her eyes widened. And suddenly she ran…

…away from me, and towards the monster.

What?

Grabbing the monster by one of the horns on its side, she shouted, "ANGELICA! BRUTUS! RUN! RUNNN!"

I took another step forward, preparing my jump, filled with worry by the thought of her being dragged alongside the running monster dog.

There was a crunch, a crumpling of hard plastic.

I looked down, and lifted a foot.

I saw a mask on the ground. It was probably showing the face of a dog, but the snout had been crushed beneath my foot.

I looked up, at the monstrous parodies of dogs as they disappeared around the corner.

So, that's Hell Hound. Oops.

I briefly considered chasing after her, and rejected the thought almost immediately. Making sure the Wards were safe came first.

I turned around again, and walked back towards Shadow Stalker.

**Missy (Vista)** _(again)_

_"… __ran, didn't she!? Shit!"_

_"… __fucking bust!"_

_"__How… carry all these…!?"_

_"__Grab Tats! Take what you can! Leave the rest!"_

_"…"_

_"__LEAVE the REST!__ I'm… power now!"_

_"__Man! This fucking su…"_

Now that I was listening for it, I could hear the occasional loud conversation as they drifted up onto the roof. I was curious how the battle was going, but… I was still a Hero.

And because I was still a Hero, I felt if I stood up, I would have to fight.

_"__No! Don't move him! He has a broken neck!"_

_"…__then…"_

_"…"_

Not today, not anymore. I didn't want to fight for a minute more today. I didn't want to have to fight anymore…

"Vista?" The hesitant question poked me.

I glimpsed out from the crook of my arms curled above my knees, which were tucked in in front of me. I didn't realize I had curled up into a ball.

"Are… are you hurt?" Panacea asked, a hand hesitantly reached out towards me. "I can help if you are?"

"No. No I think," I replied, unfolding myself into a more open seating posture, a confident position, "I don't need the help."

We looked at each other.

"Thanks," I added.

_"…__and what The? Shit!"_

_"__Over there! Trickster kidnapped her! Glory, I'm …"_

_"__NO! I'm going after the bastard who threatened my sister!"_

_"…__K! Go! GO!"_

I noticed when Panacea wearily stood up beside me. I watched as she walked over to the edge of the building, where she leaned over the edge to look down. With a little nod, she turned around and looked back towards me.

"Vista?"

"Yeah?"

"You can… can you get me down there?" She waved an arm beyond the edge of the roof.

"I…" I looked at her.

I took a good look at her.

Panacea probably felt as weary as she looked. Her posture was sagging, her arms hung weakly, and there were bags under her eyes as she faced downwards.

But there was also a slight frown bracketing her eyes, little spots of determination and anger looking out into the world. She continued to look steadily at me, her fist clenching on and off as she leaned against the wall at the edge of the roof.

I reached out and shaped the air, creating a corridor of warped space by connecting two points together. "It's done," I said, "Just take a step to my right, and you'll be downstairs."

"If…" she looked hesitant as she looked in the correct direction, and down towards the three story drop. "If you say so…"

"Panacea?"

She turned around. I realized I had called out to the hero before I had thought about it.

"How do you do it?" I asked.

She gave me a smile, a small bitter thing. And then she left to do her duty.

I stayed behind.

…

I will not stay behind. Not like this. I would not be the kid who stayed behind.

I stood up and used the same trick to warp the space right in front of me. Taking a deep, trembling, slow, calming breath, I closed my eyes. And I took a step forward.


	23. Arc 4: Interlude 4

**Interlude #4**

Director Piggot glared at the Wards. Her expression hardened.

In their turn, they wilted under her gaze.

The glare continued. In Kid Win's opinion it continued far too long. It was only a few seconds according to the chronometer in his visor, but it had felt a lot longer.

Eventually, the Director sighed.

The feeling of impending doom lifted from the corridor. Kid Win let himself relax and without seeing his teammates, he could also somehow feel the other Wards doing the same.

The Director's stern expression returned with a vengeance, hardening even further than before. "I wouldn't relax just yet," she intoned.

Once again, the Wards felt as if they were fish in a barrel caught in the path of a fiery Behemoth. Each of them cringed as the Director's eyes swept across them, focusing on each Ward in turn.

Kid Win couldn't help but think the Director's stare stuck on him a bit longer than the rest. For the first time that day, he felt utter relief he hadn't had the chance to bring out his Alternator Cannon. Piggot would have brought down her wrath if he had; it was still untested and unapproved by the PRT.

Sure, he'd built it with an eye towards A-class threats, especially Lung, but it was obvious the fight hadn't been going their way.

And then there was _that_ cape.

He had to struggle to keep the relief from his face. With Piggot still attempting to burn a hole through the Wards with her eyes, grinning now, especially with his mostly exposed face would be… stupid.

The Director sighed again, closing her eyes. She relaxed, dispelling the subtle promise of disproportionate retribution, her towering presence diminishing despite not moving at all.

The Wards remained alert and tense, not willing to take the Director's bait this time.

"Never mind," Piggot finally said, "There's a tour group in an hour. Get yourselves cleaned up for the pictures that are undoubtedly going to appear in tomorrow's papers." Without waiting for a response, she walked past the Wards and entered the lift they had just vacated, leaving the uncertain teens and their two PRT minders behind in the hallway.

The Wards looked at each other uncertainly. It took quite a while before someone grunted, breaking the spell. "Wards," Ginny, one of the PRT assistants asked, "The base is still in Code Yellow, so Yoncy and I have places to be. You guys OK by yourselves?"

The ever reliable Aegis responded on behalf of the Wards. "Yes. Thank you Ma'am, Sir," he grunted, a wheezing sound accompanying every intake of breath, "We'll be all right."

With a nod and a sincere apology on her face, Ginny gave her partner a pat on his back. They both ran down the hallway, and were soon out of sight.

Left behind, the Wards looked at each other for a while more.

Somehow, despite his earlier thoughts, Kid Win realized he wished Director Piggot _HAD_ yelled at them. It had felt surreal not having Director Piggot lecture them for hours as she usually did, tearing into anyone who had warranted her ire for even the slightest faults.

Her silence had made things feel so much, much worse, somehow.

"Shall we?" Aegis broke the deadlock, prodding Gallant as he asked, "I need a bit of help walking."

"Oh… ok…" Gallant acknowledged blankly, as if his attention was elsewhere. He took and placed one of Aegis's arms around his shoulder, and supported the limping Ward beside him as they moved towards the Wards quarters. The rest of the Wards looked at each other before they decided to follow the leader, shuffling off without comments.

"I need to wash up and patch myself together, so you'll need to debrief the Wards." Aegis had continued, "Go over the fight as usual?"

The deputy leader of the Wards stopped abruptly as soon as the question was asked, forcing the other Ward leader he was supporting to stop too and causing a small pileup as the other Wards stopped behind the pair. Both leaders looked at each other.

Gallant slowly nodded after the pause, his expression hidden behind his helm, but a hint of what he was feeling could be felt through his slightly trembling armor. He started walking once more, almost dragging Aegis along with him as they resumed their trip to their quarters.

"If you're… Scratch that, I'm an idiot." Aegis said, "I wasn't thinking. I'll debrief us, but I'll need some time. So, gather in the common room about... two hours from now."

Gallant only managed a stuttered "I... I..."

"Don't worry about it. I'll debrief us."

He stuttered a little more before he simply nodded again.

After they reached and opened the doorway into the Ward's quarters, Aegis turned towards the Wards again. "It'll be a while before I get myself ready, and there's that tour group, so I'm going to go hide myself. We've got to pretend to be animals in a display cage, so remember to clean up, and make sure you wave with gusto when they come to gawk at us in our glass cages."

There was a little chuckle at Aegis's attempt to lift the mood. Someone coughed.

"Well, carry on then."

As Kid Win entered the Wards quarters, another stray thought hit the young tinker.

'I can't believe I just wished for one of Clockblocker's comebacks.'

'I just hope he's going to be all right.'

* * *

Chris was probably the first to spot Carlos as he appeared at the entrance to the common room. The Wards leader nodded as he looked into the room, as if to say 'Good, we're all here', before he limped in.

Kid Win knew Carlos didn't particularly like the fit of the clothes he was currently wearing, loose-fitting long sleeved civilian clothing, cheap throwaway clothing the PRT had provided to the regenerator in large quantities. But the reason why he was wearing them was easy to guess at; the loose clothing had the same color used on Aegis's costume, a dark rusty red effective at hiding any bleeding in plain sight.

They weren't as shiny however, and Chris could see more proof of his hypothesis in the small damp patches scattered throughout the shirt and pants easily seen in the brightly lit room. And judging by how Carlos carefully favored his other leg, his previously broken leg may had healed enough to walk on his own, but the injuries probably still hurt a lot.

"Are they gone yet?" Carlos asked as soon as he joined the other Wards in the middle of the room, trying to access the mood of his fellow teammates. The question was clearly rhetorical; the warning lights which was meant 'visitors on the premises' were off, and most of the assembled Wards had also removed their masks for comfort.

"Yes…" Gallant responded tonelessly from the lounge's sofa.

Carlos looked at the still fully armored and helmeted Ward, his uncovered face lined with worry. In Chris's opinion, the concerned expression had had the opposite effect; his torn and half healed cheek only made Carlos's expression macabre, and made him look like a zombie straight out of a game.

"Dean, are you all right?" the team leader asked.

"I think he needs a bit more time." Missy, or Vista as she preferred to be called even out of costume half the time, said protectively. She was seated beside Gallant on the other side of the same sofa, half hidden behind one of the room's large sitting pillows. She shuddered a bit before adding, "Can't blame him."

Carlos looked speculatively at the youngest Ward in the room. "Do you need help yourself?"

"What? No!" Vista replied quickly and vehemently, "I… I just need another bath. All the icky… things…" She cleared her throat, "I'm OK. Oh. Kay. You don't need to get anyone for me to see or anything."

"That's quite a good suggestion Missy."

"What?"

"Seeing someone," Aegis explained, "I'll see if I can request someone from Piggot, or maybe I'll ask the guy Sophia's going to if he can take on a few more."

"I didn't say that." Vista had hugged her pillow harder as she looked pointedly at Carlos.

"No you didn't, but it's a good idea for all of us even if we don't need it. And especially so if we do, so I'll do that."

"I didn't suggest anything." She reaffirmed before she turned her head away with a slight shudder, dropping the issue.

Carlos kept the smile to himself. Vista had turned her head towards Gallant. She was concerned for him even when she needed the help more. Probably.

The teen leader nodded, "Anybody else having trouble from earlier?"

"I'm good, mostly," Browbeat replied as he cradled his uninjured jaw, "Can you thank Panacea through... I don't know, official channels or something? It was very lucky she was right there to work her magic."

"Just for a broken jaw?" Chris said, grinning, "Wuss."

"Oh, rub it in, would you?" Browbeat quipped, a smile on his face defusing the barb.

"I'll do that," Aegis cut in, "I'll need to thank her too, for speeding my regeneration."

"Thanks. Too bad she can't do brains; I'm still a bit woozy from being tapped out, and…" he stopped, his widening eyes showing a bit of how astonished he was at himself for the insensitive words he almost said out loud.

_And Dennis wouldn't be in the hospital._

"…right, sorry," Browbeat said into the ensuing silence.

"Don't be," Aegis spoke up, "Since the subject came up, I would like to announce a bit of good news. While you were entertaining guests, the hospital called. Clockblocker woke up a little while ago, and he's all right. The doctors are saying all he has is a minor concussion, but he'll have to stay the night for observation, just in case."

The mood in the room lightened, as postures relaxed and smiles appeared. "Well," Kid Win spoke up as he walked towards the two whiteboards already inside the room, "With Panacea by his side, he's probably even better than most of us. I guess you're glad you know the stuff built into your helmet works."

"Yes. It'll protect me better than Clockblocker's helm at least," Carlos said, a hand indicating his rapidly closing wound on his cheek. He clenched his hand into a fist, an index finger moving a few inches up to point at his temple. "The other question remains unanswered, although if I can manage it, it'll stay that way."

"Good luck," Chris said as he finished placing the whiteboards where everyone could see them, and took a seat on a spare metal chair nearby.

"Thanks. So, let's begin. First up, with Dennis's good news in mind, I will say today was a win."

There was a disbelieving pause.

"You sound just like Gallant on a bad day." Chris said disbelievingly.

"It does sound a bit too positive, doesn't it?" Aegis smiled in Dean's direction, ignoring Vista's glare as he pressed on, "But! Working as capes, we have to know that we will be surprised by bad odds sooner or later. Maybe we'll get some bad intel, or someone with a new power joins in the fight. I've even seen a team lose because they had a new cape on their side who refused to listen to orders…

"Today was a classic example of one of those. We did not know, but we were actually dealing with two Villain groups earlier: the Undersiders whom we already suspected were there, and an out of town group calling themselves the Travellers. So we were outnumbered from the start, if we don't include Panacea and Glory Girl.

"And to make it worse, even if we add the New Wave girls on our side, one of them's not a fighter. And there's still the fact Hellhound effectively has three bodies in her dogs, and the Travellers are all capes with high threat ratings in general.

"With these odds, we should be proud of the fact we survived more or less intact. You might say it was more luck than skill, but good job guys. Give yourselves a pat on the back."

After the short, half-hearted applause, Aegis continued, "For some icing on the cake, we have an additional bonus. I've gone into the Villain database earlier; The Travellers are just as elusive a group as the Undersiders, and they've previously flown under the radar so far. Our fight today means we finally has some solid Intel on both groups.

"And this is going to be worth it, since more recently they've started pulling higher profile jobs than they used to. So, knowing how their powers work is going to be important not only for us, but our bosses too. And even if they don't join up in the future, it is worth it to note they had each other's back this one time.

"So, let's start with their powers. No matter how minor it is, let's get our thoughts on their powers for the record."

He turned to the whiteboard and divided each board into quarters. Inside each box, he wrote the names of their opponents. Grue, Tattletale, Regent and Hellhound went on the first board, before he titled the board with a circled 'Undersiders' right at the top. He moved onto the next board, titled it 'Travellers', and wrote down Trickster, Sundancer, Ballistic and Genesis in each corner.

He paused, thinking. "Did I miss someone?"

"You did. There's a guy with the red cape." Chris spoke up. "I'll go get another board."

"Thanks" Carlos nodded.

* * *

By the time Kid Win came back, the rest of the Wards were arguing.

"Maggot? Worm?" Browbeat offered, "Stick him with a crappy name?"

"What did I miss?" Chris asked as he placed the third board in with the others, "Why are we talking about creepy crawlies?"

"It's a name for _That_ cape." Browbeat said.

"Wait, are we talking about the same cape? Yellow one-piece, with some red gloves, red boots and a cape?"

"The same. Apparently he can control swarms of insects."

"Dean," Aegis asked, "you're the only one who's uninjured before and after you met him. Any ideas?"

Gallant turned his helm towards Aegis, before he said with a slight shudder, "I… erm, Skitter?"

"That's a good one," Browbeat noted from where he was typing at the Console as Chris walked over to join him, "and... its not taken. But Kid Win has a point; I didn't recall him using bugs."

"He does." Aegis explained, "A small swarm of bugs flew in after when he was getting targeted by Trickster. They forced Sundancer onto her feet just before Genesis exploded, and I can't remember any more." He paused, cocking his head, "Oh, sorry. That happened after mystery guy punched you out."

"Please, talk about that again and again. We'll obviously never get tired of that," Browbeat said with exaggerated exasperation.

Carlos grinned back in reply, looking towards Vista and Gallant. He hoped the mood would help.

"I don't know, he seems to have too many powers to be one person," Chris argued, "And have you seen the damage he did to the building? He looks more like a fast moving Brute to me. Even if he really does have bug powers, it's more like a sideshow compared to his Bruteness. Sticking him with a bug or worm name just doesn't seem right."

"Not to mention he's a hero too." Vista said.

"Are we sure about that? He punched _ME_ out," Browbeat said, "And he covered for Sundancer too."

"Maybe he didn't see your debut announcement. It was only three days ago," Vista said, her face pouting in stubbornness, "And he saved me. Popped that… balloon monster in one hit."

"Well, if he's a hero, he sure has a way of showing it, letting the villains go so easily," Browbeat continued.

"Guys…" Carlos said into the building argument.

"We were injured." Vista countered, "He stayed back to help."

"And before I returned, some of the PRT troopers were talking about the building being condemned. You're saying..."

"Please! Just _stop_!" Gallant suddenly shouted into the middle of the argument. "Please…"

"Oh, and he scared the shit out of Gallant." Browbeat couldn't resist a parting shot.

After a final pointed glare, Vista ignored Browbeat. She moved herself, dropping her pillow onto the ground as she slid along the sofa until she ended up right beside Gallant. She shifted his arms out of the way gently, before she hugged him as hard as she could, her arms too short to wrap around the armor of her teammate.

The room watched as Dean hesitantly hugged back.

It was a moment before Vista suddenly stiffened. "Shut up, Clockblocker."

"He isn't here." Chris reminded her, before lifting his visor from his lap. "But I'm sure he'll love what I just recorded."

Vista gave him a glare.

"Wait, Chris. You have a camera in that visor?" Aegis said.

"Yes. Its resolution isn't great, but…"

"Did you record the fight? Can you put it on the TV?"

Chris paused, his mouth open. He scratched the back of his head sheepishly as he chuckled. "I can't believe I didn't think of that."

"I would like a copy of that recording."

The Wards turned as one at the new voice.

Armsmaster was standing at the doorway. He was in full costume, his halberd slung over his back. "At ease," he said, as he strode forward in silence, stopping only after he had reached the whiteboards. He turned towards Aegis.

"Have you named him yet?"

"No sir, but 'Skitter' is the best we have so far."

"Skitter?" a slight tilt of the blue and silver helmet betrayed the Hero's confusion, "That does not match… ah. Controls cloud of bugs? Has a dark gray, almost villainous bug costume?"

"Sir? You know him?"

Without another word, Armsmaster picked up an available marker and neatly divided the blank third board into half horizontally. He started writing, but the marker abruptly stopped right after 'Si' was written, the marker hovering over where the next letter would have been. The pause ended quickly, similarly precise strokes spelled out a neatly written 'Skitter' in the lower half.

The marker continued to fill in the white of the board, adding words and numbers below both of the names already written. When he was done, Armsmaster carefully capped the marker as he turned around the address the Wards, "Keep this to yourselves; this information does not leave this room."

He panned his glace around the room. He had the rapt attention of half the Wards, and the other half was craning their necks, straining to see around Armsmaster and what he had written on the board.

"There are two new capes operating in Brockton Bay. The first currently does not have a cape name, but we've measured his abilities somewhat," Armsmaster lectured, stepping to one side and allowing the Wards a clear view. He ignored the gasps at the Ward's first sight of the classifications he had written down as he continued, tapping the bottom half of the board, "And Skitter, as you've named her, is obviously a Master."

"Her?" Vista asked.

The lecturing Hero nodded, "Although we don't know the extent of Skitter's powers…"

The door to the Wards' room opened again. Turning to look at the interruption, Armsmaster saw Miss Militia standing on the other side of the doorway.

"Armsmaster, I called you a few times. Did you switch off your in-house comms?"

"Yes."

The other Hero tilted her head forward, hiding her mouth more fully in the folds of her scarf, "Never mind," she said with a sigh, "The Director's calling for you."

The two Heroes looked at each other. The Wards looked at both of them, and at each other.

Armsmaster was the first to move. Turning to face the Wards again, he simply said, "Give him a good name." And then he was gone, having walked out in a measured, speedy pace.

The silence stayed behind a bit longer, only just enough for the common room's doorway to close before chaotic argument engulfed the Wards.

* * *

There were three taps on her door.

Piggot checked the image on her computer and winced. "Come in," she said, bracing herself as she schooled her expression.

The door opened abruptly, and closed just as suddenly. There was a click as it locked. Armsmaster turned around quickly and stood stiffly at attention.

"Director," he said just as stiffly.

It was a warning sign, a collection of little quirks Piggot had learned about the Protectorate leader over the years through working together, familiarity. It was a sign Armsmaster was agitated.

The Director of Brockton Bay's PRT tucked away the last pieces of paper from the center of her desk before she paid the ENE Protectorate leader her full attention. Looking across the table of her office with a glare as inviting as a frozen tundra, she asked, "How was the Protectorate conference?"

"Truncated." Armsmaster matched her stare and looked right back.

"Why?"

"You know why."

There was a pause, before Director Piggot finally relented a little, "Simon Tama."

Armsmaster nodded.

"I've had a lot of complaints about you lately," Piggot countered, "Roughing up informants, stalking neighborhoods, unauthorized patrols deep into ABB and E88 territory and three cases of property damage. And I suspect all of them have to do with Simon?"

"Yes."

"I presume you're going to repeat why you're doing this, even after I've asked you to stop?"

"I would have missed the window." Armsmaster repeated the answer he had given before, and added something new to the end, "I had missed that window. Simon Tama is already inside the statistically critical deciding period of all independents, the window where they either die, become irrelevant…"

He did not so much walk, as stride with purpose. Towering over the chair in front of her desk, he placed both his hands slowly but forcefully onto the wooden table as he leaned forward, "... or they become villains."

There was a slight growl in his voice as he continued, "I found him. I guided him here. He would have been a valuable addition to my team. I have to continue to encourage him to join the Protectorate, or it is likely he'll become an enemy I have to face."

'And it's your fault he slipped through our fingers in the first place,' Piggot could almost hear him saying from his aggressive posture and the blame in his voice.

"I've heard that before. It doesn't change anything," Piggot did not give an inch. Not for this. "Also, statistics are merely arranged numbers; they cannot be used to predict the future by themselves. We have better things to rely on than that."

"Speaking of which," she leaned back on her seat, "your request came back. Do you want to know what they say?"

"The Thinkers? Yes."

Piggot nodded and turned towards the corner of her table, only to see the large pile of the files she had been working on. She abandoned her search for the report; it would take too long to find the correct folder, and appearing unorganized would not do in **this** conversation.

She tried to remember what she had skimmed from the file instead.

"In summary, we have five somewhat reliable readings from our future-capable Thinkers. They've nearly unanimously agree that in the short term, Brockton Bay's Protectorate and PRT will not be changed or affected much as long as Simon Tama remains undisturbed."

"Butterfly from the Texas Thinker collective would like to add an additional 'one or two, blown about' for ENE's parahumans, and Litmus also added 'Purple with a tinge of explosions'. Do you remember Litmus's codewords?"

"Yes," Armsmaster had returned to standing at attention right in front of Piggot's desk, "Violet tends towards the Villainous side, and explosions…"

_'Explosion could either mean 'rapid reaction', or 'quick exhaustion'.'_

"Two other thinkers agreed with Litmus. Simon Tama will shake the status quo in Brockton Bay, leading to a weakening of the Villain gangs' positions, which we can then exploit. But that is not as interesting as their next item in the report."

"Yes?"

"If we interfere, if we find Simon Tama and persuade him a third time, he is very likely to join the Protectorate and become a Hero," the Director paused a bit, letting the 'good' news sink in before delivering her bombshell, "and when that happens, four out of five Thinkers predict the total implosion of all PRT and Protectorate forces in Brockton Bay within the year."

"What?!"

"I'll pass you the digital copy as soon as this meeting is over, but that's what the report said. Butterfly abstained for the first time since she joined. New Trends from the Vegas Protectorate had said 'short term, big goofed'. Seismic Event had a 'magnitude 4' centered where the Rig is. And Litmus said 'Infra-red exothermic annihilation'."

The last predictions had visibly shook the Protectorate Hero. Piggot waited as he dragged the seat in front of him noisily, and all but flopped onto it once it was out from under the table.

"Annihilation…" Armsmaster repeated.

"Yes. With this," Piggot concluded, adding a little warmth into her voice, "I don't need to tell you not to recruit Simon Tama, at least not for the short term?"

The Protectorate Hero nodded.

He looked so disappointed, his posture out of sorts from the Armsmaster she knew, so much so that Piggot had to know.

"Why?" Piggot asked, "It is clear that Simon Tama is not Protectorate material, and it is clearly not in our interests to bring him in. Not to mention leaving him alone is the most efficient way of reducing Villain activity in Brockton Bay. Yet you still seem to be fixated on him. This is unlike you."

Armsmaster relaxed, more by reflex than choice as gears turned in his head.

He looked up at Piggot and gave his answer.

"I don't know."

They continued to stare at each other.

"I don't. There was something about him I cannot put my finger on. He feels like… like…"

The room lapsed into silence yet again.

"So," Piggot decided to throw the Protectorate Hero a bone, "I'll give you some time to get your head in order. Thinker predictions can be quite inaccurate, but this is an opportunity we can't miss. If we keep our ear close to the ground, Simon will break the deadlock we have with the Villains here in Brockton Bay. Even if he isn't a _Protectorate_ hero, he'll work for heroic interests at least.

"I want the Protectorate prepared, Armsmaster. I want them ready to exploit this rare moment. Get them and yourself ready. Now."

Having steered the meeting in the direction she had wanted, the Director grabbed a fistful of files from her table. She pointedly ignored the Hero before her to continue the never-ending paperwork that was bureaucracy, the very act a wordless dismissal.

Armsmaster stayed seated and unmoving in the office for five minutes before he left.

He had not said a single word in that time.


	24. Arc 5: R an offer you can't refuse 20

**Arc 5: *Refusing an offer you can't refuse*  
Snip #20**

"Anyone home?!" The shout came from below, from the empty storage grounds inside the warehouse. I identified the voice immediately; it was not really that hard to guess at who it was given that only one person knew I lived here.

"Let yourself in!" I shouted back to Tailor from where I sat.

The sound of footsteps on the metal stairs was her answer to my invitation, and soon she showed herself into my living room's doorway.

"I'm sorry for not welcoming you into my house as I should, but…" I waved a hand around me. I was surrounded by my latest work, and I simply did not want to disrupt it further than I had by displacing the small mountain of cloth placed on my knees.

She hummed an affirmative as she removed her shoes and stepped in quietly. Spotting a stool, she dragged it over to where I was and sat down, dropping a heavy knapsack onto the floor beside her leg.

"Are you repairing your costume?" she asked as she leaned forward, putting both hands onto the stool between her legs to steady herself. It was a reasonable assumption given the cloth all around, and the needle and thread in my hands.

"A bit of that, and a bit of modifying." I replied.

"Modifying? Ohhh?" a smile appeared on her face. She looked entirely too happy as she continued, "But I thought you argued all of yesterday that this is a collector's item and shouldn't be changed?"

"Yes," I said, giving my silent apologies to Tonen Films and the Spartan tokusatsu series at the same time. "But as you keep pointing out, this is a fictional uniform. A costume made for TV, acting. As an actual Hero's uniform, some things are not so… it is not… efficient. Good. It does not work too well, in some areas."

"See! I told you!" Tailor agreed as she grinned widely. "I told you, didn't I?"

I gave her a nod in thanks, at the limits of what my wounded ego could accept. And to be honest, I was a little annoyed at how much she was rubbing it in how correct she was.

"So," Tailor continued, "you're removing the cape?"

I sputtered at the idea, poking my finger hard with the needle in surprise but luckily not drawing blood. "No!" I replied rather loudly. I flipped the uniform on my lap over and pointed, showing the other side of where I was sewing, where I was trying to anchor the cape to the bodysuit. "I am attaching the cape! Having a cape is a must!"

Tailor frowned.

"This is my costume, and I'm not arguing." I said, wagging a finger in the air as I repeated my old argument.

She frowned harder.

"But… you're correct. This cape is a choking hazard," I gave her a well-deserved concession as I continued to sew, "So I've been thinking; instead of the cape wrapping around my neck, if I can attach it to my costume somewhere else it should solve that problem.

"As you can see," and I poked at the attachment from the other side, "I am thinking of anchoring it around my shoulders. Additionally, with the padding already on the shoulders of the bodysuit, it should be reinforced enough to solve the problem of my suit taking on the additional weight."

"Simon," she said, a smattering of frustration and a bit of steel in her words, "Simon, are you sure you thought this through? There are a lot of other problems with a cape."

I gave her a stern stare.

She returned it, tinted by annoyance and a stubborn pout.

The staring standoff continued, a few more seconds than was comfortable.

I was the first to break the deadlock. "So, as this is settled…"

"It's not settled! A cape can…"

"It's **my** costume, not **yours**, so it is." I said.

And that was that; she gave a little huff as she dropped the issue.

I shook my head with relief and dread. After all, I'd long since heard all she had to say about the flaws of my costume. I was sure I would be hearing this conversation at least a couple of times more in the future…

… Who was I kidding. Tailor would probably never drop the issue.

And in turn, I would probably never drop my own opinions in the other direction, opinions first formed when she brought her own uncompleted superhero garb over yesterday. Or rather, I took a single look at her after her super… self exited from the restroom, and the first words out of my mouth had generated an argument that had lasted the entire afternoon, an argument just as long and hard as the one we had about mine.

The stubborn little girl had been surprisingly unwilling to agree with _MY_ view about the aesthetics of her costume. My opinion of which was that it was perfect in all ways… but only if she was planning to be a ninja assassin or a shadowy warlord.

Maybe she hated bright primary colors, or was deathly afraid of being a propaganda-focused fake hero, or something.

At least our mutual animosity towards the other's costume had transformed into a truce of sorts, a non-aggression pact based on mutually assured bickering. We simply wordlessly and unanimously agreed that I would not argue too hard about her bug-based designs 'of evil' as long as she would not argue much against my Spartan costume 'of stupidity'.

I went back to my needle and thread, passing it through the cloth a few more times, as she simmered and pouted, clearly holding in a tirade. As I had been working on the stitching for quite a while before Tailor arrived, it only took a little more effort and a few more stitches before it was done.

"Tada!" I declared, holding up the modified Sentai Spartan costume for my harsh critic. I waved it around as I declared happily, "See this? This is heroism! With an 'S' for Style, and a…"

With a small ripping sound, the heavy cape separated from the bodysuit and fluttered to the floor.

There was a pause as we both alternated between looking at the cape-less garment in my hands and the detached cape on the ground.

The silence was broken by a snigger, followed by several snorts.

And Tailor struggled to contain her mirth with one hand on her mouth, but whether she failed or gave up, she lost it. Soon enough she was laughing out loud, leaning dangerously back on her stool as her body shook uncontrollably. Her barely muffled guffaws filled the air, relentlessly punctuating my failure.

I held back my annoyance as I picked up the offending red cloth and looked at it and then at the discount sewing set which had obviously failed its purpose. And at Tailor, yelping as she almost fell off her stool, but still shuddering from all that laughter. And back again at the two pieces of the costume which had defeated my attempts to join them.

I sighed more than I said, "I really don't understand this, how _DO_ people do this needle and thread thing?"

* * *

"That's how."

Tailor gave a few hard experimental tugs on the red cloth. The cape held in place, despite the bodysuit shifting slightly from the force of the tugs. She nodded at the success before she held up my successfully modified Sentai Spartan costume.

"Tada!" she declared in exactly the same tone and pose as I did earlier, to her audience of one person enthusiastically clapping my hands together.

"Thanks, Tailor." I said, accepting my costume back and examining her handiwork, carefully giving a few testing tugs myself. It was more than just done; she had procured some thicker silk thread from out of nowhere, and had sewn the cape onto the bodysuit with the help of several buttons large and small from my sewing kit. The combination of material and skill seemed to have done the trick, reinforcing the attachment points from both sides, and the result was a lot better than my efforts.

She was indeed an excellent credit to her namesake.

"Thank you," I thanked her again.

"No problem" she said, before a small flicker of emotion crossed her features, as if she realized what she had just done, "But I still think…"

I gave her a glare and a huff, making sure to shut THAT argument down before it could get going again.

"So," I said, changing topics hastily just in case the visual show of force was not enough, "It's about time for our run. But, well, I have a question."

"Yes?"

"What day is today?"

"Wednesday, I think?" she replied, before her expression changed, her eyes narrowing as they looked at me.

I continued, making sure we were thinking of the same, "And you're thirteen? Fifteen? In America, isn't it still mandatory for you to go to school?"

"Yes. But I'm not going back there."

I blinked.

There was no anger in her voice, but she had said it with such finality and forcefulness. As if she was reciting a fact she believed in with all her heart, an inevitability which would stay true no matter what would happen.

I persisted none the less, "Look, Tailor…" but that was all I could say before I was interrupted.

"Fuck that hellhole, I'm not going to learn anything from that... from there," she replied venomously, a sharp contrast to her earlier tone of voice, "And you can't deny I'm doing more good here than anyone in Brockton Bay."

"Still, you have to go back," I tried again, "You're young. There are things you should learn in school, things that will help you later in life."

"I've learned more about the future in that _PIT_ than I will _ever need_. So. Don't. Make. Me."

She was gritting her teeth as she said that. It was… disconcerting.

"Erm… ok, alright," I held up both hands in surrender as I stood up, "I'm not going to pry too much into your life, but… your choice. Let's go then." With that, I walked towards the restroom, grabbing my running sweatshirt along the way.

Still, as I changed I made a mental note to follow up on this. An otherwise helpful and smart kid so opposed to going to school, so adamantly against something that was natural to all modern societies could not be natural.

And also, it was right and proper that you help those who are your nakama, a solid bond of comradeship I hope would be fostered between Tailor and myself one day.

And I suspect Tailor would need quite a lot of that.

* * *

**Interlude: ?**

The young waitress was back. She was smiling as she addressed her customer, the smile a hesitant, shy thing almost hidden behind the insecurities of youth.

"Hi, Sir. Would you like another cup? O-of your drink?"

The man at the table looked up. Dreamy blue eyes set in an almost feminine face looked back, topped by paradoxical neat and scruffy blonde hair. He smiled at the waitress, a polite gesture emphasizing his near perfect gentlemanly gallantry towards the fairer sex.

He gracefully shook a negative.

After a pause, he shook again, with a touch of curiosity touching his face, changing it into a look of exotic, forbidden mystery.

Another pause later, a soft and troubled frown touched his face, that handsome… no, not handsome, for the word did it no justice. That fair beautiful face of indeterminate age. The expression transformed him, emphasized him, creating an inviting, alluring promise surrounding him.

And he asked, in a sweet and light voice, so softly drifting in the air, as intoxicating as the depths of his eyes, a promised gentleness contrasted with the rich, deep tone of his voice, dripping with implied, hinted dominance, "Miss?"

The young waitress swooned, and almost collapsed right there.

"Miss." The gentle ravishing beauty granted to the wrong sex said again, his very image a dreamy thing which seemed to cause phantom bubbles and petals to appear.

The obvious part-timer snapped out of whatever daydream she had been lost in. She blinked, and blinked again, before her face pumped itself up to a healthy shade of red.

"No thanks," the voice suffused with a chorus of angelic choirs answered, as he shook his face gently from side to side once more, the smile still on his face.

Already at the limits of embarrassment, the waitress couldn't help but stammer a, "Y-Yes! Yes sir! Sorry to disturb you sir!" before she dashed off.

A soft, well-practiced sigh touched his lips, and the customer returned to his book. Long delicate fingers stroked and shifted the pages of the novel in his hands as he contemplated the printed words, his concentration softening his expression even further as he read. It was the look of unworldly innocence, the pure look of unblemished relaxation.

But only the observant would notice him glancing up from time to time, almost unnoticeable even if someone were looking directly at him.

He smiled again as he discreetly saw a half-hidden head disappear from the doorway leading to the backroom of the roadside coffee house. He even gave himself a chuckle as he heard excited squeeing drift out from the staff-only area.

He still had it, even if he had probably overdone it this time.

It helped pass the time for his task after all, especially since the book he had was certainly not helping. His Pauline was a good wife, but her choices in books… he allowed himself a shudder.

There was no accounting for taste.

And _he_ would select the book he brought for tomorrow, even if it was over her protests. Maybe a proper tragedy this time, or a Scandinavian epic. But most certainly not this tripe; this Edward person needed to die several times over.

Then again, he thought to himself as he sighed, that was what he had said to himself yesterday, and the day before. And here he was.

He looked up again, as discreet as he had been for the last three hours. His gaze drifted over the sidewalk, a quick but total absorption of all that could be seen in a split second. It was a technique he had gotten from a spymaster, and acquiring the skill had paid large dividends time and time again.

Such as now.

Keeping his earlier image and persona in mind, the customer gracefully reached for his phone on the table beside his drink. His fingers moved confidently, moving with precision and care as he pressed a sequence of buttons on the device, before he raised the ringing device to his ear almost daintily.

"Yes?"

"Victor here," he declared his identity as the feared skill-thief of the E88, still looking at the corner the jogger in the hooded gray sweatshirt and sweatpants had disappeared behind, "He's on his way. Setup everything as planned"

"Roger," the voice on the other end said, and hung up.


	25. Arc 5: 21

A/N _(you know where)_: 'Gradual'? I'll eat my foot if that's gradual.

**Snip #21**

We reached Capitol Hill Park.

Or rather, I reached Capitol Hill Park.

I turned around and looked back. The road I had followed here ran straight for quite a distance, and combined with my higher vantage point, I could look surprisingly far into Brockton Bay unobstructed. It was a beautiful vista of urban progress, both sides lined by squat apartments of all sorts. The cleanliness of the streets and the unmarked, if slightly dirty, buildings silently declared this place as one of the better neighborhoods of Brockton Bay.

I could just about make out a teenager halfway up that straight road, huffing and puffing her way up the slight incline, her posture changing between the forward slouch of the exhausted to backwards leaning arc of the struggling.

I had to give her points for trying. After all, she did not… No, no, no. That was not right. It should be: I had to admire her for keeping up with me this far, to remain within sight of me even after this distance. Keeping up with me for all of two kilometers at the pace I had set had to be hard enough… maybe.

I sighed. This was taking some getting used to.

I started doing my sit-ups, letting my body work on auto-pilot as I pondered.

It was not often a person got a wakeup call which would shake his life, awakening him to new thoughts and perspectives. It was an opportunity one would be stupid not to seize, a chance to reexamine all that person was, and what he could be.

And that event happened to me only just two days ago. As revelations went, mine was very simple, yet so very profound.

I had gotten strong.

I had gotten _very_ strong.

I had gotten _really, amazingly_ strong.

I had gotten _ridiculously_ strong _without even noticing_.

I was reminded of a somewhat cruel biology experiment. If you put a frog into a pan of water and slowly heated it up, the frog would not notice at all right until it was cooked to death.

And it was the same with my strength; I had trained and trained and trained, and I had gotten stronger. But because it had been a gradual change, I had not noticed.

But now I knew.

I smiled. I could not help it, and did not stop it from spreading across my face. Why should I?

I was strong. Two years of effort had not been in vain.

I was _Strong!_

If I did not have to keep my cape life a secret, I would be shouting this to the world from the tallest rooftops, laughing all the way.

I, Simon Tama, was _STRONG!_

Except now that I knew I had attained strength, there was this one little problem.

I completed my hundredth sit-up, and switched to doing squats.

While I was obviously happy I had finally reached my goal of being strong, the recent fight showcased a lot of problems with my newfound powers and perspective. Namely, what I considered 'normal' for me was not. Not for the other people around me.

It was… how do I explain this? It was… it was… It was just like a guy being able to open jammed jam jar lids with ease, and being puzzled why his mum was unable to open the same container just moments ago.

… That was that the best analogy I could come up with? Bah. Anyways, I digress.

So, I knew what I could do. But I did not know what 'normal' meant for other people anymore. Take Tailor for example. Was she a 'normal' runner? Or was she below average, her lack of fitness the cause of all those staggering steps wherein others would have completed with no trouble?

Could a 'normal' person have lifted that crate she could not lift, the same crate I had easily manhandled while moving between houses?

And did she have the same durability I had? If I punched her casually, she could probably take it; I knew this only because I had punched out other people time and again, so I not only had a pile of evidence I could punch people non-lethally, I had lots of practice doing so too.

It was not my fault those uncooperative, unhelpful street teens decided to turn violent on me despite having no reason to do so, attacking me on sight time and time again during my runs and forcing me to react in self-defense. But I digress

But if I punched seriously…

_The car disintegrated. The sidewalk turned into dust. The skies parted…_

Nope, not happening soon. I promised myself I would not be doing that to anyone anytime soon. Not unless something came up that really, really needed it.

This was especially true when I did not know the upper limit of my strength; I had put some force behind my fist when punching that monster dog, but to tell the truth I was not trying really hard with that jawbreaker. But even that, at that strength, had caused all that destruction.

I was a hero. I did not want to leave behind a trail of bodies, accidental or otherwise. Even if I was against people with powers, such as the diamond-patterned Muscle Brute two days ago; if I had punched seriously, he would probably be dead, and I would be a murderer.

I sighed at the memory of the lost potential. Poor kid already on the wrong side of the law that young. But then again, he chose his life, and he had chosen poorly. I just hope he would wake up soon and join the good guys, or something. But again, I digress.

There was also another reason I would not be punching seriously anytime soon, a selfish reason: it would quickly become expensive. Breaking every single window within sight of me at the very minimum, just with the wind of my fist?

That would make me an unpopular hero very quickly.

I already had to sneak away from that bank robbery fight as fast as I could when I had overheard the two PRT agents talking about public damages, angry owners and repair bills. While the collateral damage was in the name of good, law and justice, I doubt it would matter in the long run. And when the PRT caught up to me, I could just picture that Pig-of-a-Director loudly laughing-sniggering-oinking away as she sucked my bank account dry just to rub it in.

I must find out about this 'hero insurance' thing they were talking about, and fast.

Squats finished, I positioned myself to do a hundred pushups.

So, things I had to do.

I had to relearn what 'normal' meant. Tailor could probably help with that; outside her powers, she was a normal high school teen, and so she could probably gauge what 'normal' was better than me?

I had to look into this 'hero insurance' too. I could ask Tailor, but seeing as she was a teen, she probably only had a vague idea of adult finances. I would have to visit the library soon, use the computers there to get online and start searching about that.

And I had to find out how powerful my serious punches were. I need to feel, with my fists and my body, how much damage I could do and take. I need to experiment on how much damage would occur when I put different levels of strength behind my fists…

… Right. How was I going to test that? Maybe I should find a wall and punch that? But was a wall good enough as a judge of my strength? What about…

A pair of boots came into view as I lifted myself off the ground the sixty seventh time. They were black leather boots, two symmetrical feet-shaped blocks polished to a mirror sheen, and they had stopped on the ground above my head, given how I was mid-pushup.

I stopped my pushups, bringing my legs under me into a squat. In my new posture, I was able to look up further, and so I did.

And I looked up further still, and to both side of the feet's owner.

And to the running civilians evacuating the park.

"So, you're Gray Runner. The boss wants to have a word with you."

Well, well. This was interesting.

* * *

**Taylor**

I staggered as my feet crossed onto a differently colored footpath. I didn't notice that it was slightly raised, so I tripped when the tip of my shoe kicked the raised edge of the park's entryway.

I barely managed to avoid the faceplant, taking three steps to right myself from the stumble.

I pushed onwards, barely able to see the path ahead of me as I advanced. My eyes had long since stopped focusing on anything, partly due to the amount of sweat which had gotten into them turning the world into blurry, indistinct patches of colors interwoven with bright flashing white spots. My ears suffered similarly, hearing only the loud pounding of the blood in my veins as my heart beat in my chest with the thunder of a biblical storm.

All I could think of was me, the path I was on, and my goal, a speck I felt in the distance, so close...

… and yet so far away.

My lungs were on fire. They sucked at the air uncontrollably, inadvertently burning in the chill of the park's morning air. But even that agony paled to the hellfire in my legs. They flopped more than they moved, painfully complaining with every step, barely able to hold me upright as they struggled under my brain's orders to push me onwards.

And speaking of my brain, there was an ongoing riot in there. Half of my thoughts were whispering defeatist ideas to myself, cooking up excuses of every shape and size. They were telling me to submit to the sweet bliss of rest, telling me to not forcing myself into more self-flagellant pain. Why? They asked. Why did I need to continue? Why run? Just walk. This exercise was overboard. Rome wasn't built in a day. I wasn't a Brute, like Simon was. I could slow down. I could stop. Could I please lie down and rest? Nobody would fault me for only completing _most_ of the run.

Except I didn't want to; nobody would fault me, _except_ me. My remaining shreds of willpower also countered with the fact that, all the torment, all the whispers of escapism paled in the light of what I had accomplished thus far.

I had reached Capitol Hill Park.

I am Taylor Hebert, and I had reached Capitol Hill Park on my own two feet! And almost following Simon's pace to boot! Take that, World!

And all I needed to complete this victory was to continue onwards. I felt as if I was just at the edge of collapse. I was sure I would do just that if someone bumped into me, and that no effort I could muster would be able to get me upright again.

No. I can do this. I will not fall.

I continued onwards, somehow not falling by force of will, ignoring my own thoughts, burying my pain with willpower, focus and bug powers.

The bugs I had brought with me had already spread out, covering the blank spots where the local insects weren't. They drew trees, lawns, fences and paths in my mind, found people to track and mapped out the direction I should take in one thin, slightly curved line.

In particular I focused on the location of one bug, the housefly I had planted on Simon deep inside his upraised cowl, hidden in a little gap behind his head caused by the folds and stitching of the fabric. My power told me it was only a few meters more ahead, in a clearing near the center of the park if I had remembered my last few visits here correctly.

Just… a few meters more…

And the tagging housefly stopped bobbing up and down. I took it to mean Simon had completed the stationary parts of his training menu. Which also meant he was about to start his… his…

Oh shit. I forgot all about his return trip. Another run, a copy of what I just completed, the same distance at the same pace.

Everything crashed as my willpower finally slipped away. I fell almost uncontrollably onto the path and lay down, unable to continue. I… This was insane! There was no way I could manage this anymore! I… I would tell him I'd be taking the bus back to his hideout for today, or something. Maybe next time, thank you very much.

Yeah, I guess I would go with that.

I closed my eyes as I continued to pant there, hearing the unceasing pounding of my heart in my ears. But however wrecked I was physically, it seemed my powers weren't affected at all. And so, as I continued to be blind and deaf to the world, I was able to see, feel, hear, touch… and taste with my extra senses, tagging everyone and acquiring a map of my surroundings.

I finally noticed the oddity soon after.

There was a mass exodus of people from the park, and more importantly Simon was with five people, surrounding him in a rough circle.

I started to take control of the local bugs just in case, and spread them out to map out the area in finer detail. I disregarded the people running out of the park, focused in favor of those who had stayed behind in the center.

Other than the five in front of Simon, my bugs had already found a few others. They were mostly scattered in ones or twos, with an exception of a large group of twelve people near where Simon was. Those twelve stood or squatted close together near the trees and bushes away from, and I'm guessing, hidden from Simon's spot in the park.

And they appeared to be clothed the same; they all had some sort of long sleeved shirt together with pants. They all wore some sort of webbing and heavy belts, festooned with pouches and other similar gear, from some sort of metallic bulbs to boxy shapes hanging from their belts. And all of them were also holding sticks of some kind in their hands. Large metallic sticks with smooth machined surfaces, metal and plastic by the feel and taste of it. The larger of those sticks were shaped with a boxy body, a pointed hollow end, a large forward hand grip, a trigger and…

I finally realized what those were. They were holding rifles and pistols. There were at least fifteen people holding guns of all shapes and sizes, and all of them were pointed at Simon.

And here I was, so exhausted I couldn't find it in me to even roll over to the side of the footpath.

Fuck.


	26. Arc 5: 22

_A/N: Merry Christmas, Xmas, Hanukkah, or whatever holiday you guys celebrate, all!_

**Snip #22**

"Gray Runner?" I asked.

The soldier who had spoken nodded. At least, that what I've guessed from his attire, all camo-patterns this and equipment nets that and buttoned down pouches and bulging pockets and strapped in walkie talkies, and the picture was completed by a rifle hanging off his back.

Two others stood behind the speaker on both sides. The soldiers had similar equipment, but they were very much different from the first; they were big burly men packed full of testosterone and muscle, almost comically dwarfing the not inconsiderable spokesman of the trio. And unlike the speaker they wore large helmets covering their entire heads.

Their deathly glares were barely hidden through the tinted visors of their gas masks, stares of disdain and hate aimed at me as they held their dull silver rifles firmly in their hands.

Well, at least those guns were not being pointed at me, at least for the moment. But first…

"Me?" I responded, still squatting in front of them.

The lead soldier seemed a bit distracted by something, but he responded after a short delay.

"Oh yes, Gray Runner-san," The soldier spokesmen of the trio said conversationally, both hands clasped and empty by his sides as he effected an air of nonchalance.

I almost raised an eyebrow; what he had said was polite, but it had felt pretentious. I couldn't put my finger on why… probably because the soldier speaking to me was a Caucasian to start with. Or more likely than not it was because of the pair of soldiers behind him radiating obvious hostility, the show of threats standing beside the spokesman of kindness.

But I kept the thoughts to myself; those were only feelings, and I had to deal with facts first, "I think there's a mistake, I'm not this 'Gray Runner', and I don't know anyone called that."

"Oh. Oh of course," the soldier continued without pause, as courteous as anyone could be, "It's a code name the PRT gave to you, so we have decided to follow their lead. I… assume they didn't consult you before giving you the code name? I hope you don't mind if we use it, if it's ok by you, sir?"

"Well, I do mind. I have a name, you can call me…"

"Please! Sir!" the speaker interrupted, the soldier raising both of his hands in mock surrender. He still had that slight smile plastered on his face as he continued, "My boss does not want to pry into the private, actual names of talented people."

"Talented people?"

"People with above average abilities so as to speak," The soldier spokesman continued without missing a beat, "I understand you do believe you don't have powers, but we understand you're now skillful and strong enough to put down a considerable number of lawbreakers and lowlifes these past few days. Is that correct?"

"Well…" I started, but was interrupted once more.

"We respect that. That's why we said 'talented', Gray Runner-san, so as not to offend you."

"Well," I started again, scratching the back of my hood as I did so, "If you say so…"

"So, where was I… oh, the boss wants to have a word with you."

With an eyebrow raised, I responded with actions rather than words. I took my time as I stood, pausing on the way up to pat the dust out of my sweatpants. I looked at the unofficial spokesmen of the group again as I adjusted my hood, making sure it was not blocking my vision as I kept it up around my head.

He was tapping on the buttons of a phone he had retrieved from a pocket as I was doing that. A few moments later, he wordlessly offered me the device.

I looked at the proffered phone, wondering why this "boss" wasn't here in person if wanted to meet me.

"Please, Gray Runner-san," The soldier asked, shoving the phone against air as he offered the device again, "the boss is a busy man, but he really does want to help this city."

I looked at the soldier and at the phone again. I took the proffered device, brought it to my ear.

"Good morning Mister Gray Runner," the voice on the other side said, his voice sibilant and smooth, syllables flowing into each other, "if that is all right with you."

"Sup," I replied, looking at the people arrayed around me, "Anything's fine for the moment."

"Very well then, Mister Gray Runner. My name is… Coil."

I frowned immediately.

Tailor had given me a brief rundown on the villains of and around Brockton Bay a day ago, complete with the gnashing of teeth throughout the entire presentation. And I remembered a villain called 'Coil' being mentioned, somewhere between when I identified Sundancer, wrongly, and when Tailor excused herself out of the room for a moment.

That girl really had a loud voice. Incidentally, I had to curb her habit of cursing up a storm someday… but I needed to concentrate on the present for now.

"You're the racist supervillain leader?" I asked, watching the soldiers carefully now that I knew I was in the middle of enemies.

"Racist? Oh, no, no, I do think you meant Kaiser, leader of the E88. I'm not racist, I believe."

"Oh, sorry," I apologized, "… who are you again?"

"I can hardly blame you Mister Gray Runner," the person on the other side of the phone said, slithering through his vowels, "I do try to keep a low profile and all. I'm the one who's based in downtown Brockton Bay, fighting **against** the E88."

"Thank you very much for the correction," I said, "but that doesn't explain why a Villain would want to talk to me."

There was a short silence on the other side of the phone, before the Villain spoke up again, "Yes, I'm a Villain. But rest assured that while I'm labeled as a Villain, I do have good intentions towards the future of this city at heart."

"Oh kay."

"You don't sound too convinced, Mister Gray Runner."

"You can't really blame me, can you?" I reused his words against him.

Coil hesitated. With a sigh, he added "No, I can't. Some of my organization's… activities are indeed a bit on the gray area between the limits of lawful and moral. But I did those because my actions tend to bring results, results which had held back the occupation of Brockton Bay from the E88 and other truly criminal groups time and again. You can't really argue with _THAT_ result now, can you?

"Is the PRT any better? That is a group choked so full of bureaucracy and pencil pushers, constrained with so many rules and regulations that they can't even walk properly without tripping over their toes. And worse; large numbers of their bureaucratic blowhards are more concerned with their _Image_ and their _PR_, blaming their Heroes for such things as _Saving_ the innocent wrongly, penalizing them for incidental things like _Damage_ and _Collateral_.

"You've seen them, I believe. I think you do understand what I'm trying to get at, Mister Gray Runner? Saving the helpless should come first, but the PRT disagrees, fixating on the little things instead.

"**THAT**'s why I got out. **THAT**'s why I acted without the straitjacket of their rules, and **THAT**'s why the PRT labeled me as a Villain, simply because I acted outside of their nice little daydream."

I nodded. I might have to check what this Coil did that was 'between the limits', but what he said made sense thus far.

"And that's why I am paying you a courtesy call, Mister Gray Runner. I got my men to contact you, because after hearing what you did, I do believe I am meeting with a kindred spirit."

I looked around again. The grouch twins still glared at me. The polite guy still faced me with the face-splitting smile that looked wrong. The group at the edge of the forest still pointed their weapons every which way.

"I'm honored, Coil," I replied, "Sir," I felt the need to add, given how polite the Villain had been thus far, "But I don't get it. If you're paying me a courtesy call, why aren't you here in person to greet me? And not only that, you brought an entire group of soldiers to do the greeting for you. It just seems so… what's the word, not… respectful of you to do so…"

There was another pause.

"There are two reasons," Coil's reply was still as smooth as ever, syllables smothering into each other, "One, because I'm labeled as a Villain, people tend to attack me on sight. You can't blame a person for taking precautions now, can you?"

That made sense. "And the second?" I asked.

"Well…"

There was a sudden throbbing in the air, tightly bundled together sounds of 'prrrith' whispered, mingling with the loud 'bang's of gunfire as the darkness of the forest was lit up by the discharge of shots of light and lead.

"Because," Coil dragged out his words smugly, "as a sign of goodwill, those soldiers are there to help you fend off an attack from the E88."


	27. Arc 5: 23

**Snip #23**

"Oh," I replied, flinching from the distant gunfire. "Erm, thanks?"

"You're welcome, Mister Gray Runner," Coil answered, "Please speak to my soldiers if you wish to assist my troops."

And with that, he abruptly hung up.

I lowered the phone as I looked towards the forest again. The gunfire had intensified. As I watched, people clad in soldier-like green and brown camouflage left the edge of the properly trimmed tree line and shrubbery. In twos and threes, they retreated, some of them dashing from one shrubbery line to its parallel on the other side of the clearing I was in.

None of them appeared to be badly hurt, although I could see one of them limping as he hid behind a tree, while another favored the side of his body as he shuffled quickly to a spot much further away from the fight.

"Alright," I said as I turned around, handing back the phone, "I'm done. Here's the…"

I was speaking into thin air. The fake-smiles-guy and his frowny-brawny twins were not where they last were.

"…Phone- Huh?"

I looked around.

Ah, there they were, crouched behind a nearby bench. The smiling guy seemed to be talking into a radio of some kind as he remained in cover, and his brawny guards stood to either end of the park furniture, poking their heads and rifles as they aimed into the distance.

That was when I realized I was standing out in the open. I guessed that was a good move that they did, seeking cover, especially with the sounds of gunfire still coming from the dim forest to my side. While I knew I was strong, I was still unsure of how durable I was, and was in no hurry to test it anytime soon, especially right in the middle of a real fight against people who appeared to want to harm me or worse.

I ran to the trio quickly, covering the distance between us with ease. Sliding into a half-squat behind the bench, I shifted into the spare space right beside Mr. Smiles' spot, kicking up a small cloud of dust and pebbles as I stopped.

Their reactions were immediate and violent. Mr. Smiles yelped as he fell backwards, a pistol almost magically appearing in his hands as he brought it up to my face, while the brawny pair twisted to turn their rifles inward. One of them cursed as he banged his weapon on the side of the bench, wrecking the aim of his rifle, but he immediately adjusted his stance, pointing the other end of the rifle at me instead, about to use the butt of the rifle as a club on my head.

"…Sup," I said softly, raising my right hand to touch my head, palm facing outwards in a gesture of friendliness.

Mr. Smiles was no longer smiling as he stared at me, his gun dropping as recognition appeared in his expression. He blinked, turned to look at where I was at only a moment ago and turned back to me again. That was when I guessed he noticed his peers, who were similarly frozen; the next moment, he was waving both his hands at them with his palms downward as if he could push their guns without touching them, whispering frantically, "Friendly, **Friendly**, stand down."

The bulky pair obeyed and lowered their weapons. The one who had banged his weapon against the bench grunted as he resumed pointing it back at the distant gunfight, while the other continued to stare towards me. His weapon, I noticed, was still aimed in my general direction, albeit a bit off horizontally.

I set that observation aside as I turned my attention back to their leader. "Here," I said, drawing Mr. Smiles' attention once more as I held out the phone he had given me earlier.

"Thanks," he whispered, reaching out to grab the device as soon as he holstered his sidearm.

His hand was shaking, I noticed. Was he a newbie, perhaps?

"Incoming," one of the gorillas beside us spoke in a matter-of-fact tone as if he was discussing the weather. His rifle followed his words with that quiet 'prrrith' as he fired bolts of light into the forest. "Damn, that's a big wave."

The other of the pair took one last look at me, before he turned. His rifle discharged a moment later.

I looked at the both of them as they professionally handled their weapons. "Now what?" I noted.

"It depends on what you want to do, Gray Runner-san." The leader of the soldiers was smiling again, a mirror of his earlier mask from before as he continued to speak. "Would you prefer to retreat, or… Fuck!"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh! I'm very sorry, Gray Runner-san!" Mr. Smiles exclaimed, tapping his ear in an exaggerated manner, showing me the earpiece stuck to his ear. "I've just been informed that there are enemy capes in the field. Excuse me for a bit."

He turned away from me and held up a device clipped on his collar to his mouth as he furiously whispered, "A and B team, if you're not in position as planned, you're all fired. C team, full retreat."

"It's bad, isn't it?" I noted, as more soldiers boiled out of the forest. I could see shadows moving, somewhere beyond in the cover of the trees.

"We can manage." The leader turned to face me. He was still smiling as he pulled at the straps of his rifles, but this time, I could see that it was a bit strained. "That's why we brought these."

"Assault rifles are technically illegal, aren't they?" I pointed out.

The gruffer of the brawny-boys grunted again as he let loose a few more shots, "Says the guys with powers."

"I don't have powers," I reminded him.

Gruff-brawn looked like he was about to respond, when a hand tapped on his shoulder. His leader withdrew his hand and turned to look at me.

"I know you don't," Mr. Smiles replied for the both of them, "Gray Runner-san. But every gang worth their name in Brockton Bay does, and we need the advantage against their parahumans, people who can perform miracles with a wave of their arms."

He had a point there.

"It's not even enough, sometimes," the other brawn grumbled. He had turned into the cover of the bench, leaning against us as he did so. I watched he fished out something from his pouches and slammed it into his rifle. "Damn powers can really change the game."

"And that is why I need your answer now," the unsmiling leader prompted, repeating his earlier question. "Will you retreat?"

I looked between the trio of strangers. I held up my fist, and looked at it.

"Or will you…"

Before he could finish, screams and panicked shouts echoed out from the direction of the forest.

I looked up and saw a distant tree topple over. Swarms of _something_ flowed outwards beneath the canopy of the great woods. As I watched, slashes of air warped the space in between, opening the curtain in random locations and chasing the retreating soldiers. An unlucky pair were hit by an unfortunately accurate strike.

They slammed to the ground. An arm tumbled through the air, unhindered by its previous owner. Blood sprayed everywhere.

It looked like… what was the name? One of Hookwolf's underlings, the one with the head of a tiger who controlled air blasts, was in the field. Meaning that the other two would most likely be around here, somewhere.

I looked down at my fist again. I had power. But just how much did I have?

I looked back at Mr. Smiles with a stern expression. "Call your men back. I'll hold them off."

Time to test it out.


	28. Arc 5: 24

**Snip #24**

I wasted no time; moments after I had warned Mr. Smiles, I was gone from his side.

My knees bent as my feet touched the ground, ending my leap over the park bench. Falling into the running start position, I _pushed_ forward, dodging from side to side as I moved to avoid being shot.

I reached the shade of the trees on the other side of the clearing within moments. Hiding behind the closest tree I could reach, I checked myself. Good, I did not get shot.

Step one complete, easily enough.

I let my eyes adjust to the dimness of the shaded park, and I peered over the side as soon as I could be sure to see something. I carefully exposed myself as little as possible, using a technique from a noir detective novel as a guide. Keeping my head pressed to the tree, I looked out from the edge with the corner of my eyes.

I guess it worked; nobody seemed to have noticed me. The bark my cheek was resting against was kind of uncomfortable though.

Back to the task at hand: One, two, five, ten… twenty? I lost count as I reached thirty, and I was probably only halfway through. They wore a variety of colors and clothing, but the commonality between all of those I could see clearly was easy to spot: all of them were Caucasians, all of them sported varying degrees of red and back on their person, and all of them were skinheads.

The red and black clinched it, more than anything else; after all, I was bald myself, but I digress.

Nazis. They were Nazis, part of a local branch in Brockton Bay called the E88. And by Nazis I did not mean the honorable soldiers who fought for their country, right or wrong, back in the Second World War, but instead were those deluded people who had followed the corrupted words of that era's warmongering leader.

And just like those fascists back then, this mob had come here for war: all of them had pistols, or worse. I spotted a shotgun here and there, others struggled with the bulk of their hunting rifles, and there was probably an automatic rifle in the crowd going by the rat-tat-tat echoing throughout the park.

I watched them for a while more, before I ducked back behind the tree. I recalled my observations of my opponents, thinking of what I should do next.

Oh, incidentally, I have got to thank Tailor later for the assist; a good number of opponents were writhing on the floor as a large cloud of bugs wrecked an entire side of the E88 advance.

Later, my background thoughts emphasized.

So, with what I had seen, my first conclusion was that their actions were practiced, but their skills were amateur.

The attackers' advance was surprisingly smooth and well organized despite the hiccup that was their fallen flank, the advancing mob pointedly giving Tailor's buzzing insect clouds a wide berth. Small groups of them dashed forward and sought cover in the sparse forest, sometimes piling up behind a tree in twos or threes. They would then provide covering fire for their fellows, keeping Coil's mercenaries pinned and unable to move.

Covering fire which, by what I saw, came dangerously close to hitting one of their own every time they fired their weapons. They were unloading shots with wild abandon, standing out in the open as they did so. Some were even lost in their own movie universe, doing a good imitation of Rambo as they shot from the hip, neglecting to aim anywhere at all as they shouted at the top of their lungs, their bodies fully exposed to counter-fire.

And those that dogged onwards were not doing so skillfully themselves. Groups here and there split into even smaller teams, as bits of one group ran out but the rest flinched back into cover. Others held back, false starts aplenty as they flinched right at the start of their sprints, no doubt wanting their peers to run out front instead of themselves. And those that ran forward cursed all the way for all sorts of reasons, drawing attention to themselves as they advanced.

The only reason these E88 goons were not annihilated within moments were the amount of gunshots fired in the direction of Coil's men, even if they probably spent more time reloading than they did firing.

As I had thought earlier, I was sure I was correct: their actions as a group were well thought out, but their skills were very lacking, especially after my exposure to the professionalism of Coil's men.

Which probably meant they had a good leader somewhere, a skilled combatant familiar with guiding this rabble hidden in their numbers.

So, now that I had figured this out, it was decision time.

If I got that leader, the attack would probably crumble into general chaos. The rest of the mob would stall, if not outright collapse, each member not knowing what to do next. And it would help in the long term too; even with the number of capes the local Nazi chapter had, losing a leader capable enough to lead this rabble would be a big hindrance to their effectiveness, and probably hinder their future plans.

It was a viable option, and I almost carried it out except for the one hiccup in my plan: I could not tell who the leader was. Was he leading the pack from the front, shouting his orders as he did so? Was he the guy hiding at the back, talking to them via some device? He could be any one of them, a face hidden in the crowd. Or he could be one of the capes mentioned by Mr. Smiley, controlling this mob with powers somehow.

I peeked around the corner again. The six or so men being assaulted by Tailor's bugs were still screaming on the ground, blindly thrashing every which way as they coughed and choked. Another unlucky trio started to wave their hands wildly in the air as another insect cloud joined the fight. Someone up front was gesturing backwards as he hid behind a tree, screaming vulgarities of some kind at his peers behind him. A pair was having some sort of conference in the bushes that involved a lot of finger pointing and palm cutting, and I would have thought they were the leaders if a third did not come along and kick them up on their feet, pointing them towards the front. Two others crouched in the middle, one of them dragging the other to safety as he shouted something at nobody, his head moving from side to side in a half panicked state.

And I could barely hear anything in this mess, the discharging of rifles and pistols of all shapes and sizes forming a wall of sound.

I frowned. I observed. I thought.

I gave up.

Getting that leader would solve everything. But getting **every single one of them** would give me a similar result now, wouldn't it?

Decision made, I peeked out one last time as I tied the jogging jacket's cowl tightly, securing the cloth around my head.

A familiar feeling came over me, my perception of time slowing down as I concentrated.

I leaned down into a crouch, a runner's start.

I breathed in.

I breathed out.

Showtime.

I dashed around the tree I was hiding behind a moment later, my first victim already decided.

The person who was up in front of his group was not waving anymore. He was firing his pistol with an extended arm around the round trunk he used as cover. His eyes widened as he saw me coming towards him, and his aim shifted slightly to line up in my direction. His gun fired

The shot missed completely; I was already beside him, parallel to his arm. I jabbed him on the head with my left hand, knowing from past experience that would be enough to incapacitate him. I continued past his falling body without stopping.

A quartet of E88 members skidded to a stop out in the open, probably realizing I was running towards them from the direction of their intended cover. They barely managed to raise their weapons by the time I was in their midst.

Two taps from my right fist, a slap with my left, and one last jab in front of me, and this group was done with.

Three people noticed me from where they were, barely hidden behind scrawny bushes. They shouted a warning as two pistols and a shotgun shifted in my direction, and their weapons fired.

I was not there anymore.

Dodging their projectiles completely with a leap, I flew over their heads. Both of my arms reached out and I jabbed twice with my right and slapped the last with my left before he was out of reach.

I arrived at the tree trunk I was aiming for, passing beside the thick wooden pillar about two meters or so up in the air. Grabbing on with my left hand and shifting my body, I orbited the tree in a counter-clockwise rotation. Bark chipped off its surface as I switched directions mid-jump. And as I let go of the trunk, I kicked downwards with both my feet.

The two goons below me were slammed onto their backs, their limbs trailing behind their bodies and pointed towards the skies by the force of my kicks.

I did a somersault in the air as I flew in my new direction, directly towards a group of five other panicking E88 members. One was pointing a gun directly at where I was, another two spinning wildly to face me, and the last three were trying to run away.

With my forearms outstretched, I nailed two of the members who stayed with clothesline straight to their faces, as I landed through the gap between them. As they somersaulted in the air beside me due to the force of the blows, I pulled back both my arms and pushed the open palms into their stomachs, turning them into projectiles which barreled them into the three retreating thugs.

And with the last remaining member of that group, I kicked him in the knee forcefully enough to launch myself off the ground. Using my new height, I landed on his shoulders and kicked off, slamming him into the ground with the force from both my feet as I propelled myself towards another nearby tree.

I reached the ground around the trunk easily, my arms already up and ready to deal with the small group of shouting E88 members hiding there. A jab, a slap, and a cut with the edge of my palm later, they were mostly down on the ground.

I looked around me.

An instant later, I sidestepped. The hail of bullets missed me completely, filling the air where I was a moment ago. I ducked and weaved past the deadly slugs, as I concentrated on my surroundings.

In the slowed time of my enhanced perception, I accelerated further, moving forward into yet another group of the significantly reduced mob.

A tap, and another, and two more thugs went down to a double punch. A light kick knocked out the person furthest away from me before he could fire his pistol, another step forward and I closed the distance enough to jab and palm-strike the last two of this group.

And again, I was gone, dodging another hail of bullets…

… and my eyes widened as a shot hit the person I had palm-struck into a tree.

It was then I realized the danger of the situation. In their hurry to shoot me, the E88 were all firing inwards, towards where I was. And because I had placed myself right in their midst, each shot they took was dangerously close to hitting their peers, either because of the friendly targets beside me, beyond me, or behind me.

For goodness sake you people! Have you people heard of friendly fire?!

I hopped into the air as quickly as I could, a diagonal leap to my side. As soon as I was airborne, I curled myself into a ball before I forcefully kicked off the third tree I had aimed for, launching myself in a controlled arc over the heads of several groups of my targets.

As the gangsters collectively aimed upwards at where I used to be, I jabbed, and jabbed, and slapped and jabbed and kicked and knocked and knocked and **was blocked**.

'Huh?' I thought to myself, as I bounced off the last strike, the knockback of the unexpectedly blocked punch slowing my forward momentum to almost nothing. The man who had blocked my punch slid backwards a distance, throwing dirt and a cloud of dust everywhere as his feet failed to hold onto the loose dirt.

He finally stopped moving backwards three meters or so away by the time I landed back onto the ground. There were also sounds of a tree crashing to the floor somewhere behind me, followed by another.

I ignored the sounds as I turned to look towards him.

He was a big man, a well-muscled man, and he had the height to match. But it was not 'well-muscled' in the way a Mr. Universe participant would be, but rather the kind which fits the stereotyped image of a long distance trucker.

He was Caucasian, but one could be forgiven for thinking otherwise from a distance because of how heavily tattooed he was. He also had hair, but one could be forgiven for thinking he was bald from a distance because of how thin the haircut was.

And he was human, but one could be forgiven for thinking otherwise again. His snarled, his twisted face inhuman with anger, waves of hatred easily seen behind his crossed arms as he straightened himself from the earlier slide. Not to mention all of the metal plates coating his body and extending his limbs.

As I watched more metal grew out of his very skin, forming a hedgehog of spikes, plates and metal as he changed, shifting into a ball of shiny silver material growing bigger by the minute. And when the ball reached the size of a small car, four limbs sprouted out of the core body as it narrowed into a lithe, thin shape, followed by a head and a tail.

"You bastard!" the gigantic beast that the man had transformed into towered over me on inhuman limbs, as his surface continued to ripple and change. "I'll **KILL** you for what you've done!" he shouted from a snout that just formed, creating an unnaturally wide set of jaws filled with rows of terrible fangs.

Erm… did I offend a giant metal dog in the past?

But before I could even begin to ask the question in my thoughts, I was interrupted for the second time in two moments, as an impossibly handsome man dressed in red and black stepped between us.

Raising both of his hands towards both of us, he uttered a single word, loudly.

"Stop!"


	29. Arc 5: 25

**Snip #25**

"Stop!" the man said again loudly, but not quite shouting, as he faced me. "We're not here to fight."

"Not a chance!" the gigantic metal construct snarled back as it leaned forward, all four of its digitigrade knees bent and poised to pounce. Curiously, the large metal jaws did not move as it continued, "I'm going to get my vengeance for…"

"Stop." The last word was uttered to the silver canine, spoken instead of shouted. Yet somehow the stern syllable seemed to carry an immense weight behind it despite the words being almost drowned out by all the gunfire.

Speaking of which…

I looked behind me. The few E88 members I had not knocked out were cowering in the cover of the broad wooden trunks as they continued shooting in the direction of Coil's men. I turned back towards the transformed parahuman and his minder, deep in the process of staring daggers at each other.

Covering my mouth with a raised right fist, I cleared my throat loudly.

I succeeded in getting their attention; a metal snout shifted slightly to point in my direction, and probably in response the other person turned towards me a moment later. Without looking back, the obvious superior of the pair took a step forward towards me as he gracefully raised his right hand, the thin, almost delicate fingers forming a palm gestured behind him.

The parahuman growled, but otherwise obeyed the obvious command. As for me, I observed the newest newcomer in more detail as he approached.

He was a tall and lithe person, thin but not overly so. His height was clearly apparent despite being overshadowed by the bulk of the parahuman behind him. He had a young face, long but still somehow roundish, a set of gentle lines ending in a smoothly curved chin. Well-managed yet scruffy blond hair bracketed a handsome, symmetrical face, from where sharp, alert eyes scrutinized me.

His clothing did not lose out either. He was immaculately dressed, with an overcoat of red and black resting on his shoulders, barely hiding the spotless, smart business suit, white shirt and pants.

It was a uniform of sorts, a declaration of wealth and superiority, a dress not out of place in a high rolling Western financial establishment. The look was completed with all manners of accessories; a stylish business tie adorned his chest, shiny silver square cuff links on his sleeves, a swastika adorned his left collar, and even his shoes gleamed with polish in the dim light despite him obviously having trudged through the slightly muddy undergrowth of the park.

"I am Victor, a lieutenant of the E88," he said as he stopped five paces away from me. "I wish to talk."

Victor eh? I might have heard of him… but I filed my observations of that man away for now. There were more pressing concerns to be dealt with.

"First things first," I said, "Did you just say you're not here to fight?"

"Yes." He replied as if we were talking casually in a park… oh, we were.

I looked behind myself, and back. I raised my fist, putting it beside my head, my thumb indicating the almost depleted, and still depleting E88 horde behind me, "Should I stop them, or will you?"

The overdressed person twisted a bit as he looked behind me, leaning to the side as he did so.

"Oh. Them. They're just here to keep others off our backs." The man looked at me sideways, before he turned his head to look towards Coil's men. "They're doing a passable job."

I raised an eyebrow; his movement has been sluggish, lazy. It was as if he was simply uninterested at the events I had pointed out.

It was as if he didn't care if his men lived or died.

"They're getting killed out there." I noted.

"Yes, but they are also killing Coil's men." He almost sounded bored as he turned his attention back to me, taking another step forward. "Coil and the E88, we have… an enmity. They will be rewarded handsomely when we win."

"Call them off." I said again.

"If they retreat, then they haven't fulfilled their duty, and if that happens they will fail their initiation." The pretty boy said as he looked back at me. "They volunteered for this, every last one of them. I'm not going to deny them a chance to get into the E88."

I felt myself gritting my teeth. I stopped that consciously.

"Alright," I continued, pressing on quickly, "then let's make this fast, so you've no reason to stick around. What are you going to talk to me about?"

"It's simple." Victor took another step forward. "I have a question to ask you, and depending on your answer, an offer from the E88."

"Well? What is it?" I hurried him on.

"You're the parahuman jogger who runs through Brockton Bay in the mornings and quite late at night, aren't you?"

What did that have to do with anything? Still, I replied truthfully. "Yes, I jog in the mornings, and I also started to jog at night recently. But I am not a parahuman."

There was surprise in his voice as he asked, "You're not a parahuman?"

"Nope," I replied. "But I am strong enough that I can pass for one."

"Strong enough that you can beat up two hundred of my men?" He said took yet another step forward. He was getting really close now; the gap between us was reduced so much so I could almost reach out and touch him.

With narrowed eyes, I looked directly into Victor's eyes as I watched his every movement. "Just what are you here for?" I asked. "You're only here to talk, aren't you?"

"I'm here to talk all right," Victor glared back, "But you're mistaken. As I've said earlier, I'm not **only** here to talk."

And that's when something slammed into my back.

I stumbled a bit from the impact, more from surprise than from any loss of balance. I was surprised at how clear my thoughts were, as well as how little pain I felt, but there was no doubt in my mind what just happened.

Dammit, I was careless. I've been shot.

Reflectively, I twisted to look behind me, my left arm reaching behind me to feel the wound on my lower back. There was nobody there. Nothing stood behind me and beyond, nobody held a smoking gun pointed in my direction, nothing which could have shot me. And my fingers found a large, ragged tear in my jacket, not the small hole I had expected.

But that was also when I felt rather than saw the shadow that rushed at me, and I turned back just in time to see Victor slam bodily into me. I felt a hot sensation in my belly, a sharp stabbing pain as his surprise attack pushed me back a step.

Shit. I was most likely stabbed too.

"Kaiser sends his regards." Victor hissed at me, his breath easily felt on my face. He raised his left fist, and a glowing blue flame flared brightly as it formed from the object he was holding, a triangular shape hanging at one end of his fist. "Die."

He thrust his hand forward directly at my face, leading his attack with the sharp blade of flame.

'Oh no you don't,' I thought. I had been too careless, but not anymore.

As time slowed in my perception, I raised my right hand as fast as I could and punched Victor's left fist.

With an underwhelming 'pop', the cylinder blew up in Victor's hand. The same arm was flung backwards by the force of my punch, the same limb dragging a body back with it. Victor staggered as he was forced backwards, revealing another triangular flame from a similar device held in his right fist. He reacted quickly, his left leg moving backwards in an attempt to regain his balance.

Not quickly enough.

With a twist of my body, I leaned down and lashed out with my left fist. The sweeping motion caught Victor's leading right leg behind his knee, and with a single flipping motion, I pushed both his leg and my arm upwards.

My right fist was already in position from the twist of my body, my fist beside my waist. But I sank lower into a stance and waited.

I wanted him to see this.

Victor's expression was full of surprise as his face came into view once more, as he completed a rotation in midair. His limbs were flailing every which way as he hung before me, unable to prevent what was going to come next.

I shook my head as I saw his wide eyes lock onto my own.

I thrust out my right arm.

My fist slammed into Victor's gut, the uppercut hitting exactly where it should. I followed through with the punch as I launched the E88 lieutenant up into the air above me.

And sailing over the waiting gigantic dog.

And up into the canopy of the trees, crashing through branches and leaves.

And out of sight.

'Erm…' I thought as I looked at my upraised right fist. 'I think I used too much power there. I just hope I hadn't injured… killed… Fuuuu…'

I was interrupted from my thoughts by a deep chuckle. I looked away, towards the source of the laughter, and saw the gigantic parahuman construct trembling as he started to paw on the ground.

"Good riddance," the E88 parahuman spat out. "You should have been his kill from the start."

'His?' I thought just before I stumbled from a very familiar impact onto my back again.


	30. Arc 6: Tiger, Tiger, Tigeruppercut 26

If you guys (and gals) haven't noticed by now, **Snip #19** is a newly written chapter. The old Snip #19 is now **Interlude #3**.

** Arc 6: *Tiger, Tiger, Tigeruppercut!*_  
_Snip #26**

I twisted to look in the direction the attack came from yet again.

And again, just as before, nothing stood behind me, nobody held a smoking gun pointed in my direction, nothing which could have accounted for the impact I had felt, or the second large gash my left arm found on the back of my sweatshirt.

As with the backstab from before, there was only unbroken skin beneath the torn cloth. My back was not injured in any way I could feel, and even the slight pain from the impact was rapidly fading away.

But the more surprising thing was what I felt on my stomach as I pressed my right palm onto the wound there.

Or lack of.

The shirt near my belly button had been burned away, and I could still smell the burnt ashes smoldering from the heat of the flame-knife-thing that Victor had used. But beneath that, my skin was smooth and unblemished, and did not hurt as my hand pressed down onto where I had felt the stabbing pain. It was not penetrated, and it did not feel like it had been burned, and a short glance downwards revealed that it did not appear to be marred in any way at all.

It only felt a bit hot, the exposed not-wound already cooling down in the air.

But I had no time to think on this; I turned back to face the front almost immediately after I peeked behind me.

"Aha, Gotcha!" I shouted as I caught the metal parahuman in the act of dashing towards me, the dirt under its bulk churned up by the enlarged pawful as it quickly chewed up the distance between us. "Catch me once, shame on you. Catch me~"

I did not have time to finish what I wanted to say as the gigantic bulk suddenly leaped, gaining speed in a burst of acceleration. The airborne boulder of metal and parahuman flew towards me with a loud, human yell reverberating oddly from within its head. His maw opened up, ranks of fangs proudly displayed in orderly rows. Each of the terrible fangs added to the hostile promise of lethal injury if they got the slightest chance to bite into me.

I did the only thing I could think of… after vetoing the other thing I could think of. That person was made of spikes and sharpened plates! There was no way I would punch a knife on its sharp end! With that in mind, I jumped away, a small hop to the side as I focused my attention back to my surroundings.

A huge blast of sound blasted around where I was as the gigantic silver hound landed. The large shockwave formed a storm of earth thrown up by the impact, a thick cloud covering the gleaming canine from view. Moments later, with an agility that defied its size, the metal beast stormed out of the cloud, aimed in the direction that I had dodged.

I was not there. I had already hopped again, observing and planning as I hid behind a tree nearby.

The body of the dog morphed as his metal head turned towards me, having spotted me to his side somehow, his surprisingly human-like eyes glaring at me from where they were mounted behind protective spinning blades. The metal construct changed its forelimbs into spikes and plunging them deep into the earth, abruptly coming to a stop. His body reformed, absorbing his his forelimbs from the ground as he shifted his weight onto his hindlimbs, the metal body expanding and contracting on the spot.

Within moments he had become a two legged humanoid once again. But instead of a human head, the torso was topped off with a dog's head, and instead of arms he had a bundle of spears, the sharp tips twinkling in the little bits of sunlight below the park's canopy. They blasted forward towards me without sound, the shafts expanding unnaturally under the cape's power. Some of the spikes swept forward instead, taking a roundabout route towards me as they warped into large blades, or multiple hooks trailed by thick wires.

A forest of spikes stabbed into where I was behind the tree, while the blades sunk their edges onto both sides of the trunk. The hooks shot past my position instead, wrapping back once they reached the limits of their trailing cable, obviously attempting to trap me within loops of tightening metal as the hooks orbited around the tree trunk.

As soon as the hooks bit into the wood of the tree with a thump, the wired links grew taut as they retracted back into the metal humanoid, pulling him forward.

In an ear-splitting screech of cracking wood, the bulk of the former-canine crashed right into the tree, a half-formed canine head biting into its trunk and, moments later, crushed it right into half.

I had moved on even before his attack reached me, hopping away as I continued to wait for my chance.

The metal shapeshifter did not give up in his chase; the separated metal bits gathered back into its body, each segment of the blades, spears and hooks melting as it was absorbed and reforming the missing parts of the hound's body. Its two front paws formed again, balancing the resulting form on four legs, one of its forepaw scratching the ground in a very canine gesture of aggressiveness as the tip of its snout pointed in my direction.

I bent low, already planning to jump away by the time the four legged javelin launched itself in my direction.

That was when I finally saw my other attacker in the murkiness under the tree's canopies. A person hidden in shadow lifted a hand in my direction from where he stood, half-hidden behind a distant trunk.

The very air shimmered as the dust between us blasted out of the way for no apparent reason, just before something ethereal hit me on my upraised arms. It was a hard impact, a blast strong enough to knock me back into the trunk of the tree, forming small furrows of dirt with my feet as I was forced back.

Was that...? Yes, it was. My second attacker could attack with blasts of pure air. That explained how his backstabs did not quite hurt me, even if it did a number on my clothing.

It was just air after all.

Wait. Something was not right with what I had just deduced.

But figuring it out would have to wait for later. I dug my heels in and held my ground, staying where I was as the winds buffeted me. Impact after impact hit my protective arms and my body behind them, a pressure pushing on me as the tree I braced against groaned and creaked. It was not entirely by choice; I could already imagine what would happen if I jumped into this torrent of wind, spinning head over heels as I was caught by the bursts of air.

Thus, I dug my heels in instead, staying where I was I braced against the wind, and waited for an opportune moment, even as the wind-based parahuman did not let up. Instead, the winds picked up even further, a gust strong enough to pluck leaves from the branches of the surrounding trees. A hurricane of wind surrounded me, a continuous stream of air keeping me pinned and ground-bound as blades of air shredded my clothing.

As I adjusted my stance against the weight of the air itself, I peeked through the gale through half lidded eyes, and spotted him stepping out from where he was hiding.

He was a tall and pale man, even in the twilight where he hid. Just as musclebound as the person who had turned into the metal dog, he flaunted his muscles with his choice of clothing, a pair of pants and nothing else. A whitish blue tiger mask hid his head from me as he bent low, his arms waving in front of him in some intricate pattern as he gathered a ball of swirling dust in front of him.

'Tigerhead' continued to force the very air to his will as he sent more blasts in my direction from the orb of his power. I ignored him however; the blasts of air were not doing any damage, really. The charging bulk of the large metal mutt was the more immediately obvious concern. The dogman yelled triumphantly as he closed in on me, another human-like sound echoing oddly from the oversized dog-like head.

I narrowed my focus completely on the charging attacker as I thought quickly in the little remaining time I had left. What was coming at me was the parahuman in his original form: a metal construct made up of spikes and sharpened plates. His 'skin' rippled with every bound, but on closer examination it was a surface better described as a 'hide', in actuality a set of overlapping scales moving under and over each other. Additionally, 'Hair' formed on each of the plates, covered the entire hound-like form in sharp, string-like edges, And on top of that, each limb sporting an even deadlier set of evil-looking claws, and his tail was made of a collection of large, long blades, probably poised and ready to sweep forward in a decapitating strike.

There was no doubt he was an experienced cape. Other than his eyes, protected under the same spinning blades as before, I could not see any bit of the human which should be hidden beneath the loping body. A complete shell of sharp edges protecting the parahuman within.

Dammit.

Fido opened his mouth as he got closer. The maw loomed over me as it opened up, the jagged triangles reformed within the cavern of metal. I had to get out of here before the dog used me as a chew toy. I looked frantically for a weak spot, something I could exploit.

And suddenly, there it was: the gigantic dog lover's skin may be full of spikes, its limbs made of sharpened claws, its teeth an array of miniature spears… but the mouth itself was made of flat slabs of metal, the roof and jaw smooth and unblemished as they held the teeth in place.

In other words, perfect spots for my punches.

I did not hesitate, not with the serrated teeth about to clamp shut with me in the middle. I stepped forward, giving me room to maneuver, and twisting my body, I jabbed downwards with my left fist.

The jaw half as big as I was opened wider, giving me more room to swing a proper punch.

I jabbed again.

Twangs of metal rang out, audible even in my perception, as something gave out where the jaw met the head. It dropped open, wider than it had seemed able to, the lower tip of the curved metal plowing into the ground. I stepped back as it dug up a pile of soil right before it impacted into a root and got stuck.

The metal of the jaw bent away, as the force behind it smashed into the immobility of its front. An inevitability of momentum and the bent metal braced against the ground forced the mongrel's head upwards, against the owner's wishes.

Perfect.

Already crouched low in order to floor the jaw, I now pushed up with my feet. My right fist led the way as I punched.

The snout... disappeared. The head of the dog split into two as metal blasted away in tiny bits, disconnected by a ragged line reaching all the way back to the neck of the construct. The bulk of the suddenly headless body was lifted off the ground by the force of my punch, as multiple pieces of metallic debris flew everywhere, up and away from me, perforating large holes in the canopy of the park's trees.

The large lupine body finished its somersault on the spot, landing onto its back in an anti-climatic crash, and...

'Oh. Fuck.' I thought as I stepped away from the large parahuman construct. It remained collapsed onto the ground, unmoving, obviously stunned by my attack. Large pieces of what was left of the dog's head were not, however, crashing onto the ground all over the place behind the canine.

Crap. I hope I did not hit anyone with that. I really hope I-… And it seems I would not. The direction of all the falling chunks of leftover canine was angled slightly away from most of the massed E88 mooks, but I could never be too sure.

Wait a minute, if that direction was away from the fight, then...

I turned. Tigerhead stood in the distance as he continued to assault me with an increasingly violent storm of air.

More importantly, his attacks blasted through the battlefield, clipping several small groups of the weaker E88 members as they tried to hide from the human-made tornado. As I watched, one of them lost his hold on the root he held, tumbling on the ground as he went past me twenty paces to my right.

I had to end this, and fast.


	31. Arc 6: 27

**Snip #27**

I had a tree, I used it.

Grabbing hold of the trunk, I stepped to the side and let the wind push me back. The force of the gusts assisted my intended actions, turning me around the trunk and behind it.

The wooden pillar continued to groan as Tigerhead increased the intensity of his gales. Dirt, pebbles, grass and rocks swirled around me, a solid cloud moving almost horizontally as it shot past at high speeds. It was occasionally broken by a piece of litter, a shadow half buried in the low visibility. It felt as if I was trapped in a…

_The raindrops of the heavy downpour fell, a liquid cloud moving almost horizontally as it shot past at high speeds. It was occasionally broken by a piece of litter, a shadow half buried in the low visibility._

I watched with rapt attention as the cracked window pane continued to rattle.

"Son" a voice interrupted my youthful fascination, "Get your things. We have to…"

I blinked. I found myself panting heavily.

What was that?

'This is no time to daydream,' I thought as I shook my head, clearing my mind. The flying dust continued to swirl around me, the cloud's coloration reddening as the continuous gusts of wind continued to strip away the earth, grass and topsoil giving way to the deeper clay layers. It felt as if I was trapped in a hurricane.

Something twigged in my thoughts. People get killed in hurricanes, don't they?

Dammit. The urgency to take out Tigerhead just went up. But first, I needed more information. Maintaining my concentration, I peered around the tree, using the same detective technique as before to keep myself mostly hidden.

I spotted him pretty much immediately; Tigerhead had not moved from his spot. He was still waving his arms around an orb of air, giving me an impression of a witch predicting a fortune from a crystal ball. Gusts of air blasted out of the orb; not a continuous flow of air, but instead a fake stream made up of many consecutive compressed blades of attacks shooting towards me.

He was probably straining to keep up his attack, evidenced by his silhouette's shoulders heaving with effort, but the flow of air did not lessen. The dirt between us had been stripped bare by now, while the bark of my shelter was giving way, splinters of wood breaking away to the sound of a staccato buzz.

But above all, I noticed his surroundings. His intact surroundings. The area around his feet was still littered with undergrowth, the men behind him were mostly unaffected as they ran away without much resistance, and while the trees and branches above him were swaying violently, they were not being stripped by enormous blasts of winds.

He was stronger than I thought. His blasts of air could somehow managing to cut into wood, dig up the very ground and throw people around. But apparently he had a blind spot that I could…

I paused. And I blinked. Then I went over what I just thought.

He was stronger than I thought.

By the sounds of the chipping wood behind me, his blades of air were comparable to heavy slashes with a knife, and their frequency was that of a machine gun.

Why was I still standing, unharmed?

I leaned back into my sparse cover. Tapping my body with both arms, I looked down and examined myself, and I blinked in surprise again. I found only unblemished skin on my arms, body, and legs. My torn clothes were undeniable evidence of where I had been hit, but there was not even a tan where the flame blade had pressed into my stomach, and even the stings of pain I had felt earlier were already memory.

The staccato buzz continued behind me, reminding me of the strength of the strikes I had endured.

Despite everything, I took a moment to smile. The smile evolved into a grin, and developed into chuckles. I laughed out loud, cackling as I examined my raised hands, reveling in the joy of it all. I had suspected this, but what just happened confirmed it: I was not only Strong, I was _also Tough_! All of me, so, very, _Very, TOUGH_! I was **both** strong **AND**-

An E88 goon tumbled past my shelter, shrieking all the way.

That's it. Laughter's gone.

Slapping my cheeks with both my palms, I focused on the problem at hand. How should I confront that windbag?

Go out, brace against his winds and simply walk up to him? That would work, given how tough- I suppressed a giggle- I was, but despite everything it would take time; I would still be delayed by his winds, and he would react long before then. The E88 was an old organization, and I did not trust their capes not to have hidden tricks up their sleeves.

Jump to the side, and close in as fast as I could? Doable, but risky; I was confident of my speed, but it was quite a distance. If he spotted me, he would redirect his winds. And being fast sacrificed stability; I would likely be blown away if I did not properly brace against the ground.

I would have to close in stealthily. But to do so, I would have to find a blind spot. But in this sparsely populated crop of trees, with no bushes, no walls, lacking cover of any kind, and with him knowing where I was? I doubt I could pull it off. I would have to _fly_ at ludicrous speeds in order for him to…

Fly. Or rather, a controlled jump.

I looked up and smiled again, my sight of the sky partially blocked by the few leaves and branches that remained. My plan set, I peeked around the corner of the trunk again.

Good, Tigerhead was still where he was last, clearly panting with the effort of keeping his gale winds flowing. I bent my knees as I looked up at the canopy of-

-a movement, a flicker of silver in the corner of my eye provided barely any warning before I was slammed into the tree I was hiding behind. Rows of serrated teeth stabbed multiple points of pain into my chest and my upper thigh as he held me in his jaws, his head twisted to trap me between his upper jaw and the tree, his lower jaw no doubt crunching down on the opposite side of the tree trunk.

"Gotcha!" that odd, reverberating echo shouted from within the canine parahuman construct as I grunted in surprise. Cables of metal lashed out from the tip of his snout, disappearing behind me as they drew taut, and the pressure on my chest suddenly increased tenfold.

Dammit, I had been careless! He had caught me in a triangle of shrinking metal, with me in the middle. I was going to die, the serrated hacksaw that was his jaw was going to reduce me to gibs, and...

and...

'Huh,' I thought, looking down as the dog attempted to chew me up, but failed. He gnawed and gashed and nibbled, but the deadly triangular blades merely dented my skin, and nothing more.

'That is surprising. Fortunate, but surprising.' I would have thought, except, **'DAMMIT! This is ****_PAINFUL_****!'**

With clenched teeth I pushed back, ignoring the pain I felt as best I could as I strained with both my arms and legs. The upper jaw shuddered, and with a high pitched snap of failing metal some of the conjured metal of the snout snapped back. The pressure on my chest let up a bit. A little space formed in front of me, with just enough room to bend my elbows and rest my palms onto the smooth roof of its jaws.

I pushed again mostly with my right arm and leg, my left side too close to where the jaws joined to do much. I was rewarded with another 'twang' of breaking cables-

\- and that was when the giant mutt pushed back again, not with its mouth but with its body. It dug furrows of earth with its legs as it rammed me back onto the crumbling wood of the abused tree, using its bulk and weight against me. The pain and pressure doubled as the sharpened triangles of its metal teeth slid across me, and in that moment more cables formed from the tip of its nose as my strength slackened slightly.

No! Not happening! I was not going to give up without a fight!

I gritted my teeth as did my best to ignore the pain. With a heave and a shout I pushed again with both arms. My efforts were rewarded as the jaw widened again in the middle of the dying hurricane, rattling as fake tendons of metal broke apart against my strength.

He rammed me again, gaining a bit of lost ground as more inorganic muscles appeared. More of the silver metal flowed around me, reforming the bent and damaged sides of his mouth, and it trembled as he strained to keep me in place.

I pushed out once more and finally succeeded in straightening my right arm entirely. I tried to bring up my feet, to use them to kick my way out, but there was not enough space to get my feet in between the gap in front of me.

My feet hung off the ground as we continued to struggle, man and giant mutt. The winds around us had died down, but the wood of the tree behind my back continued to splinter as we twisted in our struggles.

We had reached an impasse; with my right arm fully stretched out I was unable to push him any further, but he was also unable to close his jaws around me.

No, wait. The reason why Fido's metal cousin was only biting down on me was because of the trunk behind me. It held us in place with its thick bulk, a pillar that was slowly giving way by the sounds of the cracking wood and splintering bark.

And when the tree finally snaps?

I remembered a scene I saw two days ago, of Clockblocker trapped between the jaws of Bitch's dogs, thrown about as if he was a chew toy.

I was out of options.

Except that.

No, anything but that! It was too early! I hadn't fully tested it out! I tried to think of something else, anything else…

Loud pops of the crunching wood reminded me of the time limit I had.

The irritating doggy construct raised its forepaw, its three serrated claws reflecting light at the tips with an imaginary, audible 'shhhing'. He tried to use it to claw at my body, but because of the awkward way his head was twisted, the limb only managed to create new slash marks in the tortured tree trunk as it began to tip backwards.

I was out of time. My mind was still blank of other solutions.

Dammit.

No time like the present to test things out.

I looked beyond the dogman's head, checking the area slightly to the left of me for anything important again. I revised my definition; only really important things, no, only 'critically' important items. Things that people would not miss too- no, things that people would miss, but could do without, or stuff that would not cause anyone's death if it was totally wrecked.

It was surprising how many things I could dismiss with that criteria.

I shifted my weight in the confines between the jaws as I strained again, pulling back my right shoulder onto the fracturing trunk as I braced as well as I could with my left arm.

The raised paw returned to the ground in reaction, probably in anticipation to ram his bulky body against anything I was about to do.

Wrong choice, mister.

I raised my right arm up to my shoulder. I drew my fist back, looking at the roof of his mouth towards the back where the jaws met, having plotted out the punch's path all the way from my right to my left.

'Serious. Mode.'

Time slowed in my perception. I glanced to my side. I caught the right eye of the struggling hound, a tiny orb of black on the side oversized canine head.

**'Serious…'**

I saw his eyes widen. I gave myself a little smile just before I threw my right shoulder forward, leading the movement with my fist.

_**"**__**PUNCH!"**_

My fist hit the intended spot… and plowed through.

The top of the metal mutt's head… disappeared.

The tree behind my back… disintegrated.

The bulky quadruped body… sheared, dividing into half along its length.

The hound's snout… flew, its attached cables snapping like noodles as it was flung away with great force.

A ring of dirt rose up into the air beyond the punch. Another ring formed behind it as I watched. Large chunks of rocks and earth were thrown up into the air, intermingling with similarly lifted bits of root and grass.

The gap between the parting metals widened, revealing a reddish black orb right on top of the lower half of the divided construct. The obvious core of the parahuman cracked, cobwebs of fissures spider-webbing along the surface of the reflective orb.

I was flung through the cloud of splinters that used to be a tree, barely staying upright as I was flung by the force of my punch. My back crashed onto the other jaw of his mouth, beyond the shattered wood, but I slid off the sharply angled surface and continued to fly backwards, bending the bits of metal I had rubbed against as I went.

The top half of the dog-form disintegrated. Metal scales came apart in a cloud of deadly shrapnel, large pieces tearing themselves as they flew back and out of view, disappearing into the churned-up clouds of earth and dirt.

There were six rings of the park's earth in the air when it was suddenly clear once again from one moment to the next. A large crater appeared on the ground at the feet of the disintegrating dogman's body, a huge wave of pressure suddenly pushing everything away at high speed.

Dark red liquid started to spray out of the faults and cracks of dogman's core, as if it was highly pressurized. Bits and pieces of the orb flaked off, and I could see parts of the man I saw earlier within its confines.

As one, a row of trees fell, the collapse of the ten or so trees falling quickly even to my heightened perception. Another row followed soon after. And another. A fourth and final row collapsed, revealing the edge of Capitol Hill Park and exposing Capitol Hill itself.

The toes of my shoes touched the ground, and ripped right off. Exposed, the ball of my feet dragged lines on the earth as I adjusted my posture to slow down my backwards momentum.

The trees of Capitol Hill rippled in the wind as if I was watching a silent film as it… disappeared. Briefly, I saw the earth of the slope dent, a crater appearing along the entire side of the hill crushing the stairs there to dust. Mowed grass was stripped, canopies were denuded, thick tree trunks were thrown into the air, and finally the entire hill disappeared in a massive cloud of brown.

My feet hit concrete, throwing up equally wide furrows as my deceleration increased. I came to a stop shortly after, but I did not care.

I… well, I think… I thought of nothing in particular, my mind blank as I continued to look at the giganormous floating cloud of churned-up earth that used to be one entire face of Brockton Bay's third tallest hill.

. ...

Oh.

. ...

Erm.

. ...

Ahh.

. ...

Right.

Crap.

It's only Air! Air's not supposed to do that?!


	32. Arc 6: 28

**Snip #28**

I slapped my neck by reflex.

I lifted up my palm in front of me.

There was a squished mosquito smeared across the palm of my hand.

I looked back up at the scene I had been staring at for the past few minutes.

"Oh boy," I sighed as I saw the huge dust cloud again. It was slowly flowing down the obscured slope of Capitol Hill. The edges of the massive cloud drifted into the park below, blurring the sight of the toppled trees into splotches of darker and lighter brown.

I glanced to the right.

I saw Capitol Hill Park as it should be; a quiet path of slightly ill-maintained concrete, mostly clean of litter and potholes, lined on both sides by trees, bushes and lamps. Benches were placed here and there along its length, colorful images or words illegally painted into the bars of weathered wood, and I could see a vending machine silently waiting for customers in a small shelter in the distance. To the right of the path, the trees gave way to a somewhat spotty grass field, most of it perfect for a picnic except for the puddles of muddy water here and there.

It was a jarring sight, the normalcy of the park only a turn of the head away from an epic-level disaster movie scene.

I looked to my left.

More of Capitol Hill Park spread out before me, the same path surrounded by the same shrubbery.

However, unlike before, there were people in the picture.

Coil's soldiers stood or sat out in the open, easily seen behind the objects they had hidden behind moments ago. Almost to the last man they stared, their weapons unused and lowered in their hands. The faces I could see had a number of different reactions, from open-mouthed astonishment, outright shock, to a narrow-eyed grimace, with one or two of them having thoughtful, if wide-eyed, looks of intense calculation twinkling in their eyes.

There were a few exceptions to the static poses however. There was a guy with his weapons abandoned on the ground beside his knees, his palms clapped together in a prayer as he looked my way. Another was frozen halfway through cuffing an E88 gangster's legs with a strip of plastic; he stood in shock as he snuck glances towards the disaster area much like the rest, but he moved with the need to restrain the struggling gang member. And Mister Smiles was still huddled behind the park bench, talking into his mic.

Ah. Right. I started to walk towards him.

I could hear Mister Smiles as I approached. "Sir, I highly, HIGHLY recommend we do not make a Code 'E' out of Gray Runner… Yes… No… I don't care how much you… Yes sir… Of the **HIGHEST RECOMMENDATION**, sir… Yes ssii**aaa****_AGH_****!**"

That last bit was accompanied by a sharp jerk of fright as the leader spotted me standing to his side, facing him. He nearly fell as he rocketed upright, and backpedaled away from me, windmilling his arms due to the haste of it all before he found his balance again. As soon as he recovered, he flung his hands to the right of side of his waist, fingers fumbling for the straps of his pistol on his belt.

The rest of the men around us startled at the shout. They turned towards us, took in the scene of their leader panicking, and as one they moved. Some of them dove into whatever cover they could find, others simply dropped prone onto the ground. Most of them aimed their weapons towards us, although there were others who simply looked back with interest, and one or two who made themselves as little as they could in their places of concealment, hugging their rifles as they did so.

And the guy who was praying simply ran, and ran... and ran.

The praying man was out of sight by the time the soldiers' leader recovered from his shock. Breathing heavily, he removed his arms deliberately, slowly, trembling as if the motion needed a great effort, resulting in a difficult struggle. He straightened his stance as he faced me, but his eyes dipped to somewhere around the left of my chest as he asked, "Yes, Gray Runner-san? How… how may I be of service?"

Man, this guy was really a newbie leader or something.

I looked to my right. Dust was starting to obscure the felled forest.

Then again…

"Yup," I answered cheerfully, trying to dispel the tension in the air. "There's, well, I guess the danger's… over?"

"Yes. Yes it is, sir!" His answer was immediate, urgent.

"So, I don't know about this part. What should we do?" I waved my arm towards the devastated trees. "Do we do citizen's arrests or something? Call in the cops to arrest the E88 we subdued?"

"You can leave it to us." Mister Smiles promised, before he shouted to his men loudly. "A team! Get all of them cuffed. B and C, secure the perimeter. MOVE!"

Well, newbie leader or not, he did have his men's loyalty, judging by the speed in which they complied with his orders. Some of the soldiers even dashed away from us on their way to the fallen E88 mooks.

We watched silently as the soldiers went on with their work. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the brute twins shuffling their feet nearby, nervous. One of them continued to brace his weapon on the park bench, crouched on the opposite side of the park furniture from us, while the other simply looked down at something which was apparently very interesting near his toes.

The wind picked up, a natural breeze which spread out the dust just as fast as it dissipated its thickness.

I was suddenly aware of the state of my clothing. All that remained of my sneakers were the two torn rings around my ankles, my pants were strips of truncated cloth of different lengths barely hanging onto the elastic circling my waist and ankles, my sweatshirt was torn to rags and ribbons, my hood was only a strip of material the thickness of my thumb, and the less said about my tattered undergarments, the better.

The April wind blew again. It was a cold wind.

I shivered as I turned towards Coil's helpful representative for help, "Erm, if you don't mind, do you have any extra clothing? Mine's kind of…"

Mister no-longer-Smiling barely spent any time processing my request before his head started to swivel about. The search came to a stop as he seems to ponder something for a moment, before he shouted in the direction he looked, "Kelvin! Front and Center!"

A somewhat scrawny, short man stood up from a hogtied person dressed in red and black, and jogged quickly towards us. He tapped the barrel of the tip of his rifle against his head in salute as he neared, "What'zap Boss?"

"Strip."

Huh?

"… Boss?"

"Strip right now. This gentleman here wants your clothes."

What the?

The new arrival did not hesitate even for a moment before he passed his rifle to one of the brawny twins. And right there, out in public, he began to undress.

Seriously?

"Erm, look," I began, "I am only looking for extra clothes. I really do not want to trouble you or…"

"It's no problem, Gray Runner-san," the leader of the apparent mercenaries interrupted me, his smile back on his face but looking a bit strained. "We do wear undergarments under our uniforms. That'll suffice."

"But…"

"Oh, and please have this scarf!" the leader unwrapped his camouflage-pattern cloth from his neck. "Your face is exposed, sir!"

"Look, never mind that, I don't mind running with my hood down. But-"

"It's no problem, Gray Runner-san. There's more where this came from."

I looked at the offered object, and back at him. He looked back expectantly, an undecided smile-slash-grimace twitching on his face as he held the simple colored cloth with both hands.

"I insist, Gray Runner-san, sir." The pressure to accept could be measured on a weighing scale.

Well now, this was getting a bit silly. But I obliged, hesitantly picking up the cloth from the man.

His smile widened into a full grin as I wrapped it around my head, covering up my mouth as well as my baldness. "Thank you very much." I bowed once I was done.

"No problem! Gray Runner-san!" He bowed downwards very deeply in response. Very.

It almost came as a relief when a shout of "Sir!" interrupted us. It was a shout tinged with panic, and luckily for me an urgent promise of threats that must be looked into immediately.

We turned around to look towards the voice.

Oh right. I forgot Tigerhead was still up and about.

The man with the Tiger mask had clambered over the scrap remains of the doggy construct. With a burst of his power he generated an explosion of wind on top of the structure, and three of Coil's men were thrown off the metal corpse like so many ants.

"Shit," Mister Insistent grabbed the mic on his collar, "Storm Tiger sighted on top of Hookwolf! Squad A, occupy his attention! B and C, retreat with the intention to flank him!"

He paused for a moment, "Lasers are authorized."

Storm Tiger? Hookwolf?

Weren't they the heavy hitters of the E88?

… and that was supposed to be a **wolf**?!

By the time I looked back from the commanding soldier, the appropriately named Storm Tiger had extracted the defeated parahuman out of the poor imitation of a wolf's body. The limp and unconscious E88 enforcer was floated up somehow within a cocoon of wind outlined by the dust in the air. Roughly and jerkily, the defeated wolfman was hoisted over to his peer, where he was unceremoniously deposited onto the other's shoulder.

There was blood everywhere as Hookwolf messily bled onto Storm Tiger's bare body, and large chunks of his heavily tattooed limbs appeared to be missing.

Guns began to fire as Coil's men found positions behind fallen trunks and dug-up dirt. Explosions of gunpowder made the park noisy again, accompanied by the flash of a trio of lasers.

They missed; Storm Tiger was not where he had stood, not anymore.

A large cocoon of dust zoomed off to the side, its contents barely visible as it came to a stop. More dust was displaced from the orb, blades of force slamming into the soldiers' cover and throwing some of them into disarray. The rest returned fire, a light show's worth of laser fire cutting into the dust storm as it zigged and zagged.

The diversion did not fool me however; the two E88 parahumans came into view from behind the pile of blooded scrap, flying backwards quickly but silently. One of Coil's soldiers wasn't fooled either, but he was suddenly engulfed in a tornado as soon as he shifted his aim, a surprise attack with no warning whatsoever.

I was still looking in their direction when they reached the edge of the huge cloud of dust at the feet of Capitol Hill. Thus, when he looked in my direction, our eyes met.

"Goddamned chink," the winds around me whispered. "You're a dead man walking, I promise you that."

And he was gone.

Shouts of surprise followed his departure as the orb he used as a diversion dissipated, revealing a chunk of burnt tree trunk. More shouts followed, as soldiers organized themselves, advancing to cover the battlefield as they spread out.

"Gray Runner-san?"

I turned.

Mister Smiles was all smiles again, a set of camouflage clothing in his hands. A pair of combat boots swung on its laces, hanging below the neatly folded clothes.

"Please accept this offering of goodwill, sir."

I looked up, alternating my glance between the almost naked soldier, stoically standing tall as he shivered, and his eager superior. I felt their expectant stares, a social pressure to accept their goods despite my opinion on the matter.

No wonder the powered folks back home called it an obligation to the public.


	33. Arc 6: 29

**Snip #29**

I looked down from where I stood. I was on a rest stop located at the far end of Capitol Hill Park, perched on the hill the park was named for and overlooking the majority of its surroundings.

The same hill which was currently missing a large chunk out of its side.

From here, I had an unobstructed view to a large dust cloud, the result of my punch lingering in the air despite the time that had passed. Other than an edge of tormented rock near the top of the hill, the fading brown layer blanketed everything in the park below me.

Visibility was further hindered by a lightshow. The authorities arrived shortly after we left, a convoy of trucks, police cruisers and a tinker bike or two moving in with force, the lights of the vehicles constantly coloring the airborne dirt with flashes of red and blue.

I could see shadows moving about under the changing colors of the dust cloud, but not much more. In my imagination, I could see them doing all sorts of CSI-ish things: arresting the perps, laser-tracing all the bullets, digging up soil samples, fending off the reporters, enhancing the feed of nearby cameras, scanning the annihilation…

That was all me. They were going to pick up clues, find out I did this, and then…

I shook my head, clearing it of unpleasant thoughts as I looked away.

Behind me, Coil's men were visible through the slightly open door of the cracked but still standing roadside stop. Bags of clothing had been waiting for us when we arrived, secreted in the almost hidden lockers of this location, and for the last two minutes the soldiers had been changing in surprising silence. They packed themselves indoors so as to prevent discovery from prying eyes, a move that forced them to occupy the restrooms of both genders despite the surprisingly roomy interiors.

Despite the crowd, I had a booth all to myself earlier. I had been offered another change of clothing, and unlike before I had accepted this set gladly; while the military clothing had fit me quite well, it had belonged to a person who had been exerting himself, running, dodging and shooting in the fight against the E88. The obvious result of his activity caused his clothing to stink to high heavens, both from the sour smell of drying sweat and the sulfurous tang of used gunpowder. Quite frankly, I did not like the cold, but I would have preferred to be cold in my tattered clothing than to have worn that camouflage apparel a moment more.

Therefore, Mister Smiles' third alternative had been most welcome.

Speak of the devil.

"So, Gray Runner-san…" Mister Smiles began as he walked up to where I was, passing me a plastic bag with the remains of my running outfit, "do the clothes fit?"

I tugged at my tee with one hand. It was a sky-blue short sleeved shirt with white buttons, a pocket over my left chest and no other distinguishing features. On top of that, I wore a pair of black pants which were similarly nondescript. It was the sort of clothing you would often see in an office setting.

'Clever,' I thought. It would be lunchtime soon, and the streets nearby would be flooded with a lunch seeking crowd from the office towers running alongside the park.

Oh. Mister Smiles was still looking at me. Feeling the need for politeness, I responded, "Yes they do. Once again, thank you for your assistance." I capped my appreciation off with a small bow.

The returning bow was low enough to give me déjà vu. "No problem, Gray Runner-san. If anything, we should thank you ten, no, a hundred fold. With Hookwolf and StormTiger as our opponents today, we would have lost men without your assistance, a lot of men."

I bowed again, deeper, playing the social game as I knew it. "No, no, no. I am glad to assist. Especially against the likes of the E88…"

By the time the short exchange of pleasantries had played themselves out, we were one of only a handful left in the shelter. The brawny twins stood nearby dressed in the overalls of a street side worker gang, shifting to and fro in impatience as they waited for their boss. There was a fourth man too, half hidden behind one of the shelter's pillars.

I let Mister Smiles give me a last bow before I concluded, "Well now, I _really_ must be off."

"Yes, Gray Runner-san, we should be going. The authorities may be here soon. Oh, I almost forgot." He took out a card and held it out in both hands. "Please, stay in touch."

I took it more out of reflex than conscious choice. "I will." I replied politely.

"Thank you very much. As I just said, we really must be off. Goodbye." The leader of the soldiers gave me a final, overly deep bow as he stepped backwards, and left without another word.

I looked at the retreating backs of the quartet as they disappeared around the corner of the path. Polite guy, but I still could not get over the pretentiousness of his actions.

Tearing my eyes off him, I looked at the card I had been handed instead. It was blank.

I flipped it over. The other side of the card had a series of digits long enough to be a phone number, trailed by a single line. "We need to talk," small neat letters spelled out, signed with a "C". I flipped the card back and forth between my fingers before I pocketed it.

I did not intend to speak with a villain of course, but Coil did have a point earlier about how he might not be one.

But for now… For now, I looked down from my vantage point, observing the slow progress of the aerosolized dirt's dispersal.

I really ought to be moving; Mister Smiles had said the government mob below could be here soon.

But instead, I continued to stand, half-hidden in the damaged shelter.

My mind flittered between random thoughts bubbling to the surface. It was as if my subconscious was trying to distract me from the now, as I remembered memories unconnected to the event before me. Barely remembered events mixed with pivotal moments, from my school years and from my adult years.

I met the slug man and defeated him again. I remembered how sharp Hookwolf's teeth were again. I saw my running partner for the first time again, and left her behind me again. I found the warehouse, my emergency backup residence, again. I...

Oh shit! I just remembered something very important!

I left Tailor behind! Again!

* * *

I found Tailor easily enough.

Or rather, she found me.

"Are you **MAD?**" Tailor hissed as she emerged from a bush right next to the small entrance I just walked through, the gates almost the opposite end of the park from the one Coil's men used. Her hand clamped onto mine as she struggled to stay standing up after the lunge. "Why are you back here? They're all looking for you only just there! You need to go!"

"I was looking for you."

"They don't know my face, but they know **yours**!" Tailor somehow managed to pull off the inflection of a shout into her whisper as she dragged me. Or rather, tried to drag me. Her legs were weakened by the earlier running, evidenced by the amount of weight she put onto my forearm as she walked me through the exit of the park. "I can stay behind, play the 'innocent bystander victim' card! You can't!"

"I can't leave you behind, Tailor. Not a teammate, not like this."

"We need to - wha…" Tailor stumbled. She would have fallen if she was not holding onto my arm.

"Hey, careful there," I warned as I grabbed her other hand, propping her up. "That little step at the park's entrance is a killer."

When she regained her breath, she blushed red as she lowered her head, "I'm OK."

She was obviously not. I smiled; such pride in youth.

"There's nothing to be ashamed about," I replied, her flinch telling me I had hit the mark. I continued, added the wisdom of a person who had suffered as much to the training regime two years before, "It's only natural."

"But… you…"

"Don't worry about it." I held her hand tightly in mine as I added, "Come on, let's get out of here."

* * *

**Mini-Interlude: Coil**

There was a brief sizzle of static before a transmission full of white noise replaced it. "Beacon has stopped moving. Verifying location."

It cut out, the static replaced by silence.

Coil simply waited. The men had been briefed; they were all professionals who knew their objectives.

Another transmission came in. "Target sighted, Tracer is accurate. Transmitting the location."

A bar appeared on the computer by Coil's desk, immediately replaced by an error message. Coil simply frowned; the base's primary transmitter was down, amongst the other things the shockwave had made a mess of.

Another message came in over the speaker. "There's an error. Resending."

"Belay that," Coil transmitted, a sibilant reply sent through the airwaves, "Tell me directly."

"Target's location is the 3rd block of Jenson Street. He appears to be staying on the second floor."

In another timeline, another Coil stopped editing a video on his computer, swapping out one program for another. A simple manipulation of the mouse and keyboard later, a pin appeared on the square of a warehouse in the displayed map of the Docks.

"Good job. Return to base." Coil said. He would drop the reconnaissance timeline soon, but for now, he leaned back in his seat in both timelines.

'Well now.' The Coils of both timelines smiled behind steepled fingers as they looked, and 'looked', at the computer screen. 'How can I use this?'


	34. Arc 7: A Michael Bay Morning 30

Sorry for the delay guys, I had to scrap three other snips (only one of which reached my helpful long-suffering 'you-know-who-you-are') before I gave up and wrote this instead...

Here's to the start of a new arc.

** Arc 7: * A Michael Bay Morning ***

**Snip #30**

_I ran._

_The uninterrupted torrent continued from the heavens. Thick clouds turned my surroundings into a wall of gray, a liquid curtain covering everything from view. It changed the formerly familiar neighborhood into an alien landscape, blurred any and all distinguishing landmarks into hints of darker shades, barely seen outlines in the gloom._

_It was not helped by the water washing down my face, blinding my eyes even beneath my cupped hands. My ears were equally useless, any sound of note washed away by the steady roar of the thunderstorm and carried away by the howling of the winds. I almost could not feel anything when I tried to wipe my eyes, my hands and feet having long lost their feeling in the cold, my face similarly feeling like a mask._

_I ran._

_The sky lit up with a bolt of fury giving me a moment of too much light instead of the stretched monotony of too much darkness. An enormous thunderclap assaulted my ears in the same moment, the first different sound I had heard other than the rainfall, and equally unwelcome. For a brief, terrible moment my surroundings were awash in brilliant white. Shapes, outlines, buildings and objects, all lit up for a brief, sudden moment._

_I saw the individual houses surrounding me, their sloped roofs showing above the perimeter walls. I saw the flooded road I was running on, the almost knee-high river more suitable for boats instead of cars. I saw the hazards I almost ran into; the abandoned car, the poles of the street lamps, the darkness of the drain missing its heavy safety covers._

_And I saw my destination; a distinctive smooth curve of the dome slightly to my right, the tallest building in the neighborhood._

_I ran._

_I peered in the direction I barely remembered from a moment ago, looking into a world suddenly that much darker in the aftermath of that one brilliant moment of illumination. What little I could see of my surroundings was an uninterrupted mockery of a twilight fog. The waters sloshed their chill into my clothing as I bulled through the fast flowing stream, threatening to push me over and down, a fate I avoided probably only through sheer luck._

_I- my steps faltered as I peered. I thought I had seen something in the darkness… there! Lights made themselves known, the first feature in my never-ending trek through the hostile world. They blinked where they were installed, beacons in the dark. The powerful lamps were dim but visible, and they drew the curve of the dome that was my destination in the darkened sky._

_I ran._

_I reached the dome of the Endbringer shelter moments later, on one of the sides without an entrance. Undeterred, I navigated slowly along the perimeter using faint guide-lights installed there for just this purpose, until I finally came to the facility's well-lit main entrance. My journey at an end, I relaxed as I took one hopeful step forward… before I froze._

_Another bolt of heaven's fury boomed in the skies above my head, whitewashing my new surroundings just as suddenly as the first._

_The sudden flash illuminated the humanoid in front of the shelter's gates, between me and safety._

_It was a monster. It was THE monster._

_It was tall, almost unnaturally so, and its arms were too long where its legs were too short. Its chest was top-heavy to the point of ridiculousness, and jagged rows of the monster's huge abs completed a cartoon caricature of a weightlifter. Its skin was mostly yellow, a stark contrast to its gray head, and the reflective slickness of the rainwater made the non-existent clothing look like skintight body stocking._

_In the fading echo of the thunderclap, the monster turned to look behind itself._

_I was on my knees, made weak by the terror I felt from the mythical being. The floodwaters felt like glue as my limbs refused to move, as I was caught in the sight of its one red eye._

_It raised its right hand to its side. Webbed claws of a red limb closed slowly, deliberately, as if the monster was savoring the moment it took to form a fist. The skin where a mouth should be stretched, forming a smile without lips beneath three glowing eyes._

_It turned its face towards the Endbringer shelter, the towering bulwark of metal and concrete, a human-made mountain of safety, a defiance against the most powerful monsters Earth Bet had to offer._

_Somehow, I knew what would happen next. I raised my arm towards the shelter. Towards the monster, reaching out as if I could grab it, stop it, despite knowing it was a futile gesture._

_I was unable to stop what was going to happen, but equally unable to stop my want to prevent what would happen._

_It pulled back its fist. It took one step towards the fortress, towards the thousands of helpless sheltered within._

_My mouth was open, and I screamed even as I choked on the rain._

_It punched…_

* * *

"GYAAAAAAAaaaaa~hah?"

I blinked. I blinked again. I was lying down, and my arms were in view above me, flung up to prevent something. A familiar crack on the ceiling greeted me in the early morning light, a relic of the days when the warehouse was in disuse and disrepair.

"6:50 AM", the bedside clock helpfully provided.

It was… a dream?

I was breathing hard, and my heart pounded loudly in my ribcage. I shivered too; despite Brockton Bay's naturally warmer climate as well as summer's approach, the too-early morning was uncomfortable without the bedding's warmth. The futon I had kicked aside as well as the cold sweat of the nightmare added to the discomfort.

Most of my nightmare had faded from memory, and the wisps of vague imagery that was left slipped through my fingers even as I tried to recall what had frightened me so much. Whatever it was I had dreamt of in my sleep, I could remember only a few scattered scenes, and it had mostly involved… a raging downpour.

Oh.

Right.

Sitting up, I willed myself to calm down, ignoring as best I could the thought of too much rain and its obvious association. Naturally, not wanting to remember Endbringers only made me remember those monsters even more, and I sighed even as I cupped my head in my hands.

That was in the past, I reminded myself, and would stay in the past. Also, Endbringers or not, I was in America now. Chances are, I would not be this unlucky, and even if those monsters came, America was simply too big to suffer Japan's fate. And I intended to make the most of the fresh new start, charging through my new life at full throttle to the utmost, for the sake of Justice, Americaness, and… what was the third thing again? Ah, never mind that, it'll come to me.

I looked around my squatter's dwelling again as I almost ceremoniously knelt off my futon.

Right.

Big words for an illegal squatter… an unnaturally rich squatter, I amended as I looked at the corner of the ceiling. Above the tiles and inside a loose brick in the wall there was where I had hidden the windfall from the Undersiders. I was still undecided if I should stay here, or take the money to rent another room somewhere out there. Stretch out my funds as long as I could, or live in legality once again.

Folding and rolling my bedding off the floor, I stood up and turned around as I continued to ponder… and bumped into the sign.

I reached out a hand on instinct as it threatened to fall over, only for the futon threaten to fall out of my hands. I grabbed at the cloth with a sweep of the same hand, only to bump into the sign, the wooden construct bouncing off the wall as it started falling again. After a mess of half-remembered acrobatics, I managed to secure the half-unwrapped futon in a rough hug, the half-fallen sign safe within the crook of my left feet, and me almost falling over as I leaned against the salvaged cupboard I used for my clothes and bedding.

With a hop and a slow kick, I righted myself while setting the sign back upright.

"**DO NOT GO OUTSIDE!**" declared the panel in big, bold letters, a message held up by a messily hacked-together tripod almost on the verge of falling apart. The wooden declaration swayed from side to side from my rescue as I frowned.

'Ah yes.' I pouted. 'That.'


	35. Arc 7: 31

**Snip #31**

**Taylor**

Monday.

For me, it was another day I spent skipping school. And I realized I didn't care about that anymore.

It used to be my truancy would bring feelings of guilt as I thought of how Dad would feel when he found out. Or how I'd feel depressed as I remembered the talks I had with my Mom instead, and her wish to see me graduate from college. Or I would feel anger at the trio turning my high school life into a living hell.

But now? School just wasn't important to me. I was making a bigger difference to Brockton Bay in mere days than years of education could possibly hope to match. During the last seven days, we had encountered villains several times, the results of which no doubt left the Bay a safer place to live in.

A warm fuzzy feeling came over me as I recalled our accomplishments all over again.

To start with, there was that first trio, the E88 kidnappers who had grabbed me while I was jogging. The bank robbery followed shortly afterwards, where we helped the Wards and a surprise New Wave guest star fight off the Undersiders and the Travellers.

It was also where I saw a hint of Simon's true power for the first time. I still remembered the rest of that day passing in a hazy afterthought of astonishment and glee.

That was followed by the amazing fisticuffs we had with the Empire capes in Capitol Hill Park, two days later. And not just with any third rate E88 cape, but **Hookwolf** himself, one of the most brutally effective parahumans in Brockton Bay.

There was also some assistance from Coil's mercenaries, something I unfortunately knew only after the fact. The taste of bile in my mouth was only softened by the schadenfreude of imagining hardened mercenaries re-remembering the fight which had utterly destroyed the racist enforcer, no doubt waking up screaming from their nightmares.

After experiencing the level of those two parahuman fights, everything else was small potatoes… physically. But small crimes were still crimes which would impact lives, and I believe resolving even those were important in their own way.

However, I would admit we didn't go looking for trouble; trouble usually found us instead, the crimes we came across mostly by coincidence.

I was sure if we went out on patrols to look for trouble and seek out the bad guys directly, we could have found more evildoers and done much more. But still, the main point was we did not remain as bystanders to a crime. We did what we could to make things better. We helped. I helped! I, Taylor Hebert, was actively making Brockton Bay a safer place to live in!

Even if it was just us standing there, watching the obviously-guilty-as-hell troublemakers running away.

Abandoning their would-be victims, some retreated loudly, almost intelligible noises filling the air as they hightailed away, while others devoted every breath to maintain the speed of their dead sprints. In particular, those who were dressed in red and black tended to add "Gray Runner" into their strings of desperate curses and panicked screams, as if to advertise to the world just _WHOM_ they were running from.

Simon simply continued on his jogging route, sometimes shrugging at their antics as he beckoned me to follow despite my protests.

He also ignored that one teenage gang fight we literally ran into, but the same could not be said in the other direction. Someone spotted Simon and shouted, and the rival groups who had been brawling in their little skirmish immediately panicked. The resulting stampede caused an impromptu Three Stooges sketch as almost half of the youthful toughs tried to cram themselves into the small entrance of an alleyway.

They didn't even notice when Simon left them behind despite my protests.

The Merchant drug vendor we found could not be so easily ignored, however. We had spotted the dealer piled into a getaway vehicle with two of his fellows, but he had tumbled out of the open door when the vehicle violently accelerated. The abandoned man had such a look of horror as he limped a few steps towards where the car had gone, before he threw himself onto his knees in front of my partner. Grabbing the sleeves of Simon's replacement sweatshirt, he desperately begged for mercy, promising to give himself up to the authorities, clean up his life, and 'even' to 'donate' child care payments to his ex-wife from now on.

With a few sighs along the way, we were 'forced' to 'march' our limping 'captive' to a nearby BBPD post, where the policemen we accosted not only took him in... but also tried to 'invite' us inside, to record 'statements' and 'receive their thanks'.

Hello? I wasn't born yesterday; I grabbed Simon's hand and we rapidly left the area.

And then there was the store robber, whom we encountered when I accompanied Simon to shop for his groceries, aka. getting anything other than instant noodles, eggs or coffee. Seriously… back to the robber. The obvious criminal was standing at the counter, a thirty or so man living up to the stereotype: he was built like an ox, dressed scruffily, was unshaven and unkempt, and with tattoos inked all over his body. He brandished a shotgun, waving it wildly at the shopkeeper as he demanded money loudly, cocking the weapon in the middle of curses.

It was the first time I saw Simon proactively fighting crime, not that I saw a lot of it; a blink later, the ruffian was slumping onto the ground with white bubbles frothing from his mouth as Simon bent his weapon in half.

On a sidenote, we got big discounts from that store as thanks, which Simon immediately abused to get us an entire mountain of canned, preserved and instant food piled high atop a shopping cart.

I frowned as I recalled _yet another_ argument, with him hiding behind the shopping cart as I threatened him with fresh bundles of broccoli. Simon Tama was absolutely _TERRIFYING_ in a fight, but you wouldn't believe it from his antics. I was partners with him, and I still could not reconcile the image I had with reality, that he and his reputation had been doing all the…

I frowned, my steps faltering.

'What had I really helped with?' I came to a stop as I realized: I hadn't really contributed.

I wasn't able to make a meaningful difference for both big cape fights. Not during the bank robbery, after Simon's punch accidentally pulverized my bug swarm twice. Not during the Capitol Hill fight , another shockwave interrupting my takedown of the six or seven that were within my range, a mere pittance when compared to the forty or fifty E88 ambushers and their capes.

I did not react fast enough to matter for happenstances on the streets. I did not have his reputation to scare hardened criminals into surrender. I did nothing to help with any crime we found. It was always over before I could do anything.

Everything that had happened was solved almost entirely by Simon himself.

He had done almost everything by himself.

I… did nothing at all.

Fuck...

Fuck No!

I refuse to accept that I wasn't making a difference. Obviously, I wasn't as capable or powerful as Simon, nor had I gone out into the world of capes as much as he had. But I was sure I assisted in my own way.

My power had range and utility, clearly evidenced by all the times I found out something before Simon did. My power also wasn't weak; I was perfectly capable of taking down my opponents on my own, evidenced by those E88 in Capitol Hill. If Simon's punch hadn't interrupted, I was sure I would have worked my way through the rest of the E88 goons, eventually.

And then there was the stuff outside cape fights. My backpack was heavy with the printouts from the library, reams of Who's Who of the major heroes on the American Eastern seaboard cape scene. I had presented a basic summary of what I dug out on cape vigilante acquisition laws earlier on Friday, _'No, Simon, you can't loot everything that's not nailed down'_, and hopefully by tomorrow I would have gathered enough layman's understanding to talk about how to perform a citizen's arrest without the cops trying to arrest us instead.

There. I was helping, I thought as I walked forward with a new spring in my steps. No ifs or buts about it.

That being said, I may have to do something about my lack of physical contribution.

Maybe I should start with improving my response speed? It always took sometime to gather a swarm big enough for a new situation, during which Simon would have punched out the problem of the moment. Maybe I should keep a swarm with me all the time and have them follow me?

No, that would be too highly visible… or…

I imagined a carpet of crawlies hiding beneath my clothes, and shuddered. No, I was not keeping the bugs under my clothes for now.

Maybe I should play to my strengths instead? I should use some flies as early scouts? That would give me enough early warning to gather the swarm before we physically ran into it? It was worth a shot I guess.

On another note, I had to speak to Simon about all the friendly fire going on. As awe-inspiring as it was every time Simon pulled out one of those epic punches, the aftereffects and shockwaves weren't too friendly on my bugs…

… truth be told, the aftereffects of Simon's punches weren't too friendly on **anything** nearby.

It was five days ago when Simon took out Hookwolf. That meant it was five days ago when Simon took out half of Capitol Hill Park. That devastation, a mere side effect of the cape fight, occurred right in the middle of Brockton Bay's affluent Downtown, and kicked off a media frenzy that was still going strong today.

Facts were repeated on every news report every other hour, of the park being cordoned off, still inaccessible to the public. Of the few unlucky people who were nearby, held for observations inside the hospital despite their minor injuries.

Water, gas and sometimes electric utilities being interrupted for large areas of Downtown, sometimes for days. Road repaving and building maintenance crews all over the area, repairing the cracks that had formed all over.

And the statements of every VIP and famous personality of note, proclaiming shock and horror towards the "devastation" that had occurred, promising "swift retribution", while hiding behind "ongoing investigations" and "lack of information".

Five days where speculations and hearsay ran rife, full of analysis and interviews by people who should know better, further analyzed by 'experts' dragged into studios by the bundle, 'heem'ing and 'haa'ing their way into more analyses and interviews.

The lack of any new details since then was probably driving the networks a little crazy; late night shows were starting to speak of a boogieman prowling the streets. Reporters mobbed the PRT and Protectorate heroes at every opportunity, up to and including chasing Wards on their patrols. Statements were demanded from the law agencies often and again, who had by then defaulted all their responses to "No Comment". And even some of the news anchors were looking a bit worn and frazzled, dropping their professionalism at having to regurgitate the same old story yet again.

But what I took away most from everything in the news was: we were in the middle of a media frenzy we needed to avoid.

We needed to lay low.

A fact I had yet to get through Simon's thick skull.

Despite my protests… I scoffed with a bit of bitterness at how often that little phrase appeared recently. Despite that, Simon would still go outside daily. He would continue his exercise regime without fail, something he was astoundingly stubborn with.

And the worst part was he went out jogging with his sweatshirt and pants, apparently the only pair of exercise sweats he had left. It was the exact same copy of his previous jogging outfit, which was the 'uniform' of the Gray Runner persona that was one of the top contending rumors all over the Parahuman Online forums.

And he refused to go out and buy something different, despite my protests!

Was he _ASKING_ to be found, to be arrested!?

It was why I was in the Docks this early in the morning today. Simon usually slept in late, and I would be able to catch him before he left for a morning run I intended to stop.

I had to lie to Dad just to get here, saying I had forgotten my textbooks in school, and I had to go early to complete some homework due today. Dad had complimented me in response, petting my head while reminding me to stay safe.

I still felt a bit guilty at that.

But preventing Simon from getting arrested was far more important. He was the person who would rescue Brockton Bay from all the villain gangs, and I would keep him safe. I would physically stop him if I needed to!

I rounded the corner, a block and a half from my destination. On a whim, I began to take control of my bugs, trying out my 'response speed' idea by sending some scouts into Simon's room.

My steps faltered.

I sent the mosquitoes in another orbit around the room. The empty room.

_GODDAMMIT!_


	36. Arc 7: 32

**Snip #32**

I ran.

I immersed myself in my route through the trainyards. The sharp chill of the morning burned my lungs with every breath I took, and stung my face even through the fabric as I ran through the still air. It was steadily losing to the morning sun, however. I could feel the warmth on my back when the rays shone above the buildings, the infusion of heat waking my sluggish muscles almost as if I was solar powered.

Even the flashes of overexertion were a welcome friend in the background of my running, as well as the aches of my muscles and the sweat dripping from my brow. They were good feelings, every single one of them.

Exercise was a simple expression of work and reward. By trading willpower and effort, I gained physical ability in return. What was that phrase again? 'No pain, no gain'?

And it was a mindless activity almost as automatic as breathing, my fitness having long surpassed the days where I struggled against my body's complaints. It left my mind free to think as I continued to put one foot in front of the other, to muse on plans and recall situations… or to simply rest, indulging in the relaxation of mindless activity as my body continued to busy itself.

And the latter was what I chose to do this morning, barely taking note of my surroundings as I dashed past the intersection, reaching the other side just as the blinking green man of the crossing changed into red. I continued onwards into downtown proper, relegating the outside world into the background as I continued on my route.

* * *

I blinked, finally noticing something despite my inattention.

I was still running along a familiar path, but somewhere along the way I had picked up jogging mates.

There were twelve of them in total, their clothing unifying them as a group. Their uniform consists of loose unmarked green tees which seemed a bit too little for the chill, paired off with equally loose camouflage pants and shiny black boots. Their unity was further emphasized by their two by six formation, as well as the sounds of their stomps as they put their boots down in sync.

Except for the lack of a rousing marching song, it was almost as if these morning runners came out of the boot camps of military movies. I did not recall there being any sort of military bases in Downtown… were there? Or were these military geeks, people who chased after the fantasy of being a soldier?

No, I did not think so. The evidence was in their hardly hidden physique, the hints of abs showing through the clinging wet shirts and the bulging muscles easily seen on their arms. It took time and effort to be this well built, and from my own experience, most of those who fantasize about becoming soldiers without being one for real tended to _NOT_ have such a body.

There was only one group who'd fit. Mister Smile's boss… what was the name again? Package? Bundle? No, it was something about loops, coils, circles… oh.

That was it! Coil.

But if it was Coil's men running on the other side of the road, it made them being here all that weirder. Wasn't Coil branded as a _Villain_? Downtown was the area where everything lawful was housed in: the PRT, the courtrooms, the police precinct office and the local governor's office, to name a few.

Was Coil trying to make a bold statement with his men, dressed as they were out in the open in the middle of downtown just before the business day?

… Meh, whatever he was thinking, it should not be my problem. Not yet anyway.

We continued to run in silence, wordlessly accompanying each other as we headed westward along the main road. Soon enough, our paths diverged; they took a left to turn to turn back towards the heart of Downtown, while I continued onwards around the corner and towards… a barrier.

Oh, right.

I had followed my usual route. My usual route ran through Capitol Hill Park.

By habit, I had stumbled into the very place I was out for a run to forget.

And it was guarded.

Three men loitered near a large pale blue van behind the park's main entrance, and they turned towards me as I stopped in front of the barricades. They were dressed in a set of black and blue, a combination of bulky riot gear and BBPD uniforms, with a mix of armor and police threads. Rectangular shields rested on the ground, thin blue strings connecting the protective equipment to their belts. Their helmets and what bits of their more day-to-day uniform showing through the armor vests displayed the instantly recognizable hybrid shield-star symbol of the law.

Each of them picked up or held a baton casually on their hands. One of them stood up, adjusted the shield hanging by his thigh, and approached.

"Park's still closed..." The aged but not old man slurred in a lazy, almost folksy accent, as if he was a friend. His mannerism told me a different story; sharp eyes on a stern, worn face regarded me, the smile on the lips faint and compressed.

Judging from his shoulder stripes, he was a sergeant and the highest ranking of the trio.

He continued without pause, "…unless you're with the Protectorate?"

"No sir. I'm not." I replied.

I saw the officer's compatriots tense as I replied. They appeared to still be toying with their batons, but one of them rested a hand on his pistol's hostler, while the other slowly and deliberately put a pen back into his right pocket, adjusting the radio receiver clipped there as he did so.

"Thought you were, especially with the…" the sergeant struggled to say something before he settled with waving at me, "'that'. So, what brings you here?"

"I came here by mistake, sir. This is my old route."

"Route?"

"I'm jogging. You know, exercising for health, getting stronger and fitter, unlocking perfect abs, the key to ultimate power and all that."

"Oh. Hmm…" The sergeant said in response. His intense stare continued from under the rim of his helmet as he looked me up and down, as if the lawman was judging me for something. I could easily imagine the arched eyebrows hidden underneath the protective Kevlar dome.

"You're a cape, aren't you?"

It wasn't a surprising question, but yet somehow it still caught me off-guard.

"Erm… yes?"

"You're with us?"

"Pardon?"

"Are you with. The. Law?" He stared daggers at me as he intoned his question. His hand shifted behind him, out of sight, as he stretched himself up as straight and tall as he could be.

Oh. Right.

"What was that phrase again?" I thought out loud as I tried to remember as quickly as possible, "Ah yes. Tai~aaa~ _*ahem* They_ said I'm usually called an 'independent hero'."

The sergeant had an intent look in his eyes as he looked me up and down again. Behind him, the one with an arm on his pistol accidentally dropped the baton he was twirling, but he did not move to pick it up.

"So, with us then." The sergeant finally announced. He had that tight smile lacking in humor on his face as he nodded, placing both his hands on the barricade between us as he slumped forward. "I don't recognize your getup, son. You new?"

"I have had a few fights… but yes, I'm new sir."

"A few fights already? That's… interesting." The sergeant replied, turning towards his peers and giving an almost imperceptible nod. The others slumped slightly with relief, relaxing as they began to talk amongst themselves.

My attention on the two in the background was interrupted as the sergeant continued, "Well, good luck with your… exercise."

"Thanks," I replied, before I realized the sergeant could help me with something. "Oh, by the way, do you have any idea when the park will be open?"

"No idea." The sergeant thumbed his right hand in the direction of the park. "Some tinker something reality warping something device is giving the Protectorate... problems in there. It may take a while to resolve."

"That's… not good. Heard the fight damaged a few things in there." I lied.

"Indeed. It looks like a warzone… oh, and you did not hear that from me."

"… hear what?" I grinned.

The Sergeant smiled a little wider, "Anything else?"

"I'm ok. Thanks."

"Carry on then, son. Keep up the good work."

"Officers." I said loudly as I nodded my goodbyes, once to the sergeant, another to the pair behind him. I turned, my mind already trying to figure out how to get beyond the fenced off park.

That was when I heard the sound of spitting.

_"__I guess those Pissing Renal Trolls haven't deemed it important enough to inform us of the new guy yet, haven't they?"_ The soft sounds of the sergeant grumbling reached my ears as the spittle hit the ground. _"__And 'Hero' he says. 'Fight' he says. Goddamned PR deluded fools all of them, the law isn't upheld only by…"_

What was that all about? I had half a mind to turn around and demand an answer to my confusion… but then I remembered the pig.

'Meh', I started to run off, 'it's so not worth it'.


	37. Arc 7: 33

**Snip #33**

I ran up the stairs in twos and threes, ending my run right outside my doorstep. Fumbling with the tight pockets, I took out my key… and noticed the padlock was hanging open.

The lock did not appear to be tampered; it was brand new; I bought it a week ago, and it had not been scratched or damaged in any way then and now. It was simply unlocked, positioned to make it look like the gate was closed and latched. I could simply remove the security device by twisting the bottom half and removing its bar from the notches it was threaded through.

This wasn't alarming to me, really; there could only be one reason for my front door being unlocked in such a manner.

I had shown her where I hid my spare keys after all.

I removed the padlock from where it was, pulled the unhindered grill apart, and opened the door behind that into the former office.

Tailor looked up from where she was, sitting in the middle of my living room.

"Hi Tailor," I started. "You're…"

That was as far as my greetings got.

"Where were you?! You went jogging on your usual route again, didn't you?" she shouted as she jumped to her feet. She took two steps towards me before she stood as tall as she could, her hands gesturing in frustration and anger as she glared. I believe she did that to look intimidating. And I guess it worked to a certain extent. She had half a head over me after all.

Her abandoned tall stool wobbled on uneven legs, rocking to and fro before it fell over behind her. The loud crash startled her and caused her to turn around.

"Yes, well I…" I took the opportunity to get a word in edgewise.

"Didn't I tell you not to go out!?" She snapped back to me as if she had not stopped, "We're the center of attention right now! I keep telling you time and time again, we don't want to be the middle of attention! We'll only get hurt if we expose ourselves to this shitstorm! And yet you still went outside, and to rub it in you ran through the middle of the entire **CITY**! Is it that important that you want to risk everything!?"

Her stare alone could probably force a bear into submission.

Well, I was not a bear.

"Yes." I answered truthfully to the last question and followed up quickly with, "Hey, I did think things through, Tailor..."

"I somehow doubt that."

"I did." I said, slightly annoyed, "I took precautions."

"What precau- wait… don't tell me…"

I didn't. Instead, I grabbed hold of my cape and brought it in front of me in a flourish worthy of Zorro, Gatchaman and all the other old-school fictional television heroes.

All that could be heard in the room was the disappointing lack of morning traffic outside the room.

"They're out looking for 'Gray Runner' and not 'Sentai Spartan' now, aren't they?" I explained. "Cape costumes **are** disguises that keeps one identity from another, isn't it?"

Tailor's eyes widened as she took in my words. Her expression softened, going from anger to introspection while her head dipped in thought. One of her hand rose up almost negligently to support her chin as she slouched a bit more.

She obviously had not thought of what I had figured out, a shortcoming she was obviously making up for.

The silence stretched.

"… so, I'm good?"

Somehow, that startled her. She must have been quite deep in thought.

"Yes. Whatever." Tailor mumbled out next. She slumped into a slouch, losing quite a fair bit of her height as she grabbed her forehead with a hand, the last bits of her aggressive posture faded out of her. Something between a sigh and a whine escaped her lips in a long release of air. She took a deep intake of breath after that sigh, looked up at me again, and repeated that combination of a sigh and a whine.

I frowned. Was it really that bad an idea to go out running, even if I was wearing my yellow costume?

Well, whatever point I had missed, what was done was done. And Tailor appeared to have ceded her argument. And adding the fact I was not going to stop my exercise regime no matter what, and the would-be argument was pretty much an academic issue now.

Still, I said, "I'm sorry."

My mother used to say, 'If you're arguing with a girl, no matter how it ended, apologize. Especially so if you think you're right.'

I had found it good advice over the years. Not for winning arguments of course, but instead for afterwards.

"So, what do you have for me today?" I asked, changing the subject at the same time.

Tailor gave herself a last, short sigh before she straightened, mumbling something that sounded like "'ver mind." Turning around, she retraced her steps backwards, climbing onto the stool she had used earlier. She waved me closer as she reached for her backpack on the table.

And when she spoke, I knew Tailor had reverted into what I called her 'teacher voice'. Calm. Authoritative. And Stern. The voice almost everyone assumed when educating others.

"Well, today we're going to go through some more 'Who's Who' today."

"Ok," I said as I sat down on the other stool around the table, carefully settling my cape behind me, "where do we start?"

"By you telling me how many East Coast Heroes you know…"

* * *

Well, if Tailor ever had problems with her current 'job' as a heroic sidekick, she had a viable fallback role; she could become a teacher. A damned good teacher.

"Hey!"

And by that I meant she had a recall memory of a sponge, the ability to summarize everything concisely, and the focus to regurgitate that information for hours.

"Pay. Attention!"

And after she droned everyone to sleep, she definitely had the voice to shout just about anyone awake again. Not that she needed it in this case; something big and soft slapped into the side of my head. My head fell towards the table, dislodged from the left hand supporting my chin, and I instinctively jerked awake.

I blinked drowsily, looking about. That stopped the moment I saw Tailor raise my pillow above her head again.

"Alright, alright. I'm awake." I said through fingers covering the beginnings of a yawn as I raised my other hand to fend off the feathered sack.

"You better be." she pouted as she lowered the cushion, a weapon she had used twice before.

"Give me a break. I've been up since too early in the morning, and you have been teaching for hours." I yawned again. "So sleeeeee~~," I stifled yet another yawn, "~py"

Tailor's eyes drifted up at my mention of the time. She looked behind me over my shoulder, most likely towards where I had mounted a clock. Her pout gave way to an annoyed pursing of her lips. "It's lunchtime. Let's stop here."

"Finally!" I exclaimed as I collapsed onto the desk, splaying my arms in front of me. The last four or so hours had been a progression of pictures, names, rank and powers, recited in that 'Teacher' drone of voice.

Speaking of which, why were the majority of American capes not as heroic as they could be? The capes I had been going through did not seem to have the flair of the capes back home. For example, what kind of a hero called himself 'Pretender'? 'Gully'? I could maybe see 'Slamdunk' and 'Adamant' as heroic names… but only if I squinted.

And their costumes!

"What about their costumes?"

I opened my eyes as I tilted my head off from the table's surface. Had I been speaking out loud?

"Erm…" I gathered my thoughts, "a lot of them just don't have that… well… 'Ooomph!' in their appearance. That... presence, or how you call it, that screams 'Heroism!'. It seems like for every Glory Girl on this side of the ocean, there is a Strapping Lad, or a Desperado…"

"Desperado?"

"Did I get it wrong?" I frowned, sorting through my vague impressions of the last four hours, "She wears jeans, a leather jacket, has a handkerchief over her face as a mask…"

"Hoyden, Simon. Her name is Hoyden."

"Yeah. She looks like she robs banks for a living instead of being a hero."

My partner in heroism and temporary teacher raised one of her brows upwards as she considered my statement. The next moment, she was performing one of her all-too-familiar face-palms as she mumbled, "This, coming from a person in a yellow wrestler costume…"

"Ah, ah, ah!" I admonished, wagging a finger in her direction, "We don't talk about _OUR_ costumes now, remember?"

"It's… I… it's just…" Tailor struggled for a bit after my reminder of our 'costume cold war', before she shoved herself away from the table, pouting as she did so, "Alright!"

"Thank you very much. So, lunch. Do you have any preference for where we're going today?"

" 'Where **I'm** going today'." Tailor parroted as she walked around me. "**You**, are staying here. I'm going to get takeout."

"It's just lunch! And I'm wearing this!" I protested, tugging at the latex of my costume.

"No deal," Tailor said from where she was at the doorway, "Costume or not, the PRT probably can figure it out if they see it often enough. Plus, that 'Spartan Sentai' mask doesn't have a mouth-flap to eat through."

"Sentai Spartan!" I corrected my partner to the sounds of a closing door.

Bah! That girl and her…

I looked at the pile of paper still decorating my table.

Bah!

I cleared a little island on the table's surface, before I crossed my arms on the cleared spot and rested my head there. I figured I might as well have a nap before she came back.

* * *

My nap was over too soon when I was woken by the sounds of a door banging shut. Jerking awake, I blinked sleep away from my eyes again as I looked up.

Tailor was at the doorway. She was panting, hard, as if she had gone on one of my runs, and her hands were unburdened.

"Tailor?" I asked, "Is…"

"Television!" She shouted.

"Huh?"

"Your television!" She shouted, pointing at the flatscreen I had. "Turn it… wait, is it hooked in?! Can you see the local channels?"

"Yes…?"

"Turn it on, right now!"

"Ok…" I replied apprehensively as I fumbled for the remote, before I realized it wasn't on the table where it should be. I stood up and made my way to the television instead, while asking, "What's this all about?"

"You'll… see." Tailor had taken her spot on my table, and she tidied the table the table a little as she waited.

The audible flapping of the paper she held broadcasted the fact her hands were trembling.

Shrugging, I pressed the boxy device on the appropriate spot.

The screen slowly came to life, the image displaying a gigantic fireball slowly fading into view as the television warmed up. Booming noises came through the speakers as I turned away from the movie's 'shaking camera' viewpoint that was all the rage recently. The sounds of the explosions were spiced with panicked screaming as the finale of some movie continued to…

"… are hard-pressed to maintain order downtown as the Asian parahuman gang entered their fourth hour of terrorism…"

I turned around in surprise, staring at the television at the image of a building collapsing in on itself, as people outside panicked and ran away. Behind it were several columns of smoke, three thick funnels of ash beside a curiously bright green column of the same.

A helpful voiceover commented, "… and the PRT have been gathered here on the outskirts of the violence, but it seems our Heroes are currently doing nothing more than search and rescue. Just as notable is the absence of the Wards team in any capacity in this crisis…"

It wasn't a movie.

"...There is speculation that the authorities do not want to have a repeat of their last major confrontation with the ABB leader. Which, as you recall, ended with the entire Protectorate East North East lineup in the hospital..."

It was the news.

The view switched over to a studio, a jarring transition to a neat and orderly room from the chaos earlier. The news anchor looked frightened as he faced the camera. "If you're just tuning in, the city of Brockton Bay is under an all-out attack by the parahuman gang known as Azn Bad Boyz. All citizens of Brockton Bay are advised to stay indoors, especially for the following areas…"

Well, shit.


	38. Arc 8: Enter the Dragon 34

A/N: sorry about the delay guys.

**Arc 8: * Enter the Dragon ***_**  
**_**Snip #34**

I jumped, hopping between the rooftops of the Downtown area, my cape billowing behind me majestically.

In my arms, Tailor whimpered through her bug-themed mask as she held on, both her arms wound tightly around my neck. She steadfastly refused to look downwards as we passed the gap between buildings from several tens of stories up in the air, choosing to bury her head in my chest.

I guess she wasn't one for being in tall places, although her current behavior was an improvement from when we first tried this; she had let out a blood curdling scream when I carried her up to the top of our first building in a single bound. I had missed my destination by a meter on that first jump because of that, startled out of course by her screaming.

And when my destination was a roof's edge? Being off course by a mere meter in the wrong direction made for... exciting times.

I doubt Tailor would agree with my choice of descriptive; it had taken a whole ten minutes with her trembling on her hands and knees before she was willing to try again. Having five stories of nothing beneath our dangling feet while we hung on the side of the building's roof supported only by the fingers of my left hand probably did not help her fear of heights any.

I guess it was lucky we have not had our lunches yet, silver linings and all.

Back to the present, I landed on another rooftop, careful to bend my knees just so as I moved forward for a smooth landing. Once I bled out all of my momentum I slowly let Tailor down onto her feet, but it seemed she preferred to sit down onto the dusty sunbaked rooftop instead, resting her legs from their jitters.

I left her alone, no doubt already concentrating on her task, as I looked around.

The flat-topped buildings of Downtown looked back. Towers of brick and masonry, glass and concrete, they gave a feeling of being aged folk, their surfaces full of spots where paint could be seen peeling off, small nook and crannies dirty and unwashed by dint of their inaccessibility, easily spotted even with the distance.

One of them, I guess that was Medhall's tower, even had a row of shoeprints marking a short path from one window to another.

And yet they stood proudly, scruffy they may be. They stood up straight, displaying themselves grandly even with all their flaws, seemingly with purpose. They even looked well-maintained to my eyes, despite the disrepair I noticed earlier.

… I guess everything here probably looked well-maintained to anyone who stayed in the decay and filth of the Docks, but I digress.

Today, however, there were two thick columns of smoke marring their image. The inky clouds wafted up into the sky, one to the right of me, and the other directly ahead. The buildings were divided on both sides of a road far below my feet, and through that parting I could see the cause of one of those smoke pillars; a miniature sun sat outside Trident Hotel, floating inches above the road. Everything around it was on fire.

The heat from the localized inferno could be felt even from where I stood, a few blocks away.

One of Bakuda's work, I guessed.

I looked back.

"Go." Tailor said, her eyes closed as she sat where she had landed. "I'll need some time."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm having some trouble collecting a mob of insects, but there should be enough to work with." Tailor opened her eyes to look at me, "you want to save the people down there, right? Just go."

"… Ok." I replied. Tapping the bulge around my waist where my phone was in my costume, I added, "Call if you find anything…"

"… or if there's trouble." She completed the sentence for me with a nod.

I nodded back, turned, took two steps forward and JUMPED. Within moments, I was soaring majestically through the air, a gigantic leap covering several blocks, headed directly towards the great ball of fire. As I sailed through the air towards the miniature sun, my thoughts drifted to our progress thus far…

… which, if I was honest with myself, was next to nothing.

It seemed that for all my training, gaining speed, strength and toughness beyond the average man, there were shotcomings in what I had gained. The ability to obliterate things with my fists apparently did not come with skills that could help find hidden bombs. How could it? Hidden bombs had the descriptive 'hidden' for a reason.

My newfound power was useless, unless I suddenly had x-ray eyes all of a sudden, or a bank account that could pay for me tearing everything that even looked remotely suspicious apart...

Speaking of which, I just hope the United States Postal Service would not be able to trace the large hole on the side of a mailbox, as well as the torn up package of some sort of chemistry set beside it back to us.

And even if I _DID_ find a bomb, what was I supposed to do? Punch the thing really, really hard? Seriously, I did not even have a wirecutter! How in the world was I supposed to defuse a bomb when the time came?

This searching was more Tailor's specialty than mine, to be honest. And she was doing much better than me. That being said, she was unable to produce results as well.

By her own admission, she had never gone bomb-hunting before, and had no idea what to really look for when looking for a bomb, let alone a tinkertech variant. With the pace at which we were covering the city, her bugs were having trouble following our progress, forcing her to re-gather her swarm. The time limit also meant she could not enter every nook and cranny fast enough to matter. And Tailor's bug senses were to her admission limited in sight and smell, and so she could only really make an educated guess if a suspicious-looking object was really a bomb.

The golf bag we found at the back of a car we tore up came to mind. I hoped that owner had bought some insurance...

The heat woke me up from my thoughts. I opened my eyes, focusing on the present as the wind picked up. I was nearing the end of my jump, the miniature sun looming large as I flew through the air. Around me, everything was burning, and the few objects that were not were being flung all over, the superheated hot air around the burning orb rushing up into the sky as cool air rushed in to replace the vacuum in gale force winds…

… winds that were pushing me way off course, as my cloak flapped wildly around me.

The orb of white loomed before me, its brightness making the small ball look a lot bigger than its small size. Waves of almost visible heat waffed off the superheated core, and my skin was starting to become really, _REALLY_ uncomfortable in the heat.

Almost by reflex, my legs kicked out below me as I tried to jump again. But without anything solid below me, it only served to move me slightly up, where more gales of winds caught me in their grip, pushing me towards the aftereffects of the tinker bomb.

Flailing wildly, I realized I had nothing to hold onto, nothing to push off away from, nothing to prevent my unavoidable advance. I was being pushed to a spot a lot closer to the superheated fireball than I intended, an area too close for comfort.

Oh shit. Oh craaaaaap.

I looked around again as I flailed my limbs to keep me upright, but I came to the same conclusion again. I was still airborne, and there was no way I could change my direction.

Ah damn it. When you only have a hammer…

I drew back my right arm, reaching out with the left. I closed my eyes as my feet slammed into the gooey, melted asphalt. Another step brought me within range of the blinding orb as it burned painfully bright right in front of me, so much so I could even see it through my closed eyelids.

The moment I felt the solid molten core of the orb with the fingers of my left hand, I did not wait a moment. I brought my right arm down, translating into an arc, and I brought it back up in an uppercut.

I felt a pressure for a brief moment as my right fist passed the area my left hand felt.

. ...

And then it was gone.

The heat too.

'Huh, that worked.' I thought as I opened my eyes. Time seemed to revert its pace around me as the shockwave from my punch continued to spread away from me. It blasted away the few loose items that remained; shop facades were blown to bits, burnt trees were blasted to ashes, the gutted metal frames of vehicles were flipped away, and every single fire around the area was snuffed out.

I stood in the center of the newly created crater, the waves of melted road cooling quickly in the coolness of the air rushing in to fill the vacuum caused by my punch, as well as the fountains of water blasted out of the ground. Melted puddles could be seen everywhere, balls of glass, scorched concrete, melted metals of cars, crumpled streetlamps… and worse.

The people caught in this trap did not need help.

Not anymore.

With nothing left to do here, I jumped away, up against the wall of the nearby building. Having learnt my lesson, it was a short leap towards the side of another building, followed by a succession of small hops, careful to segment my return path so as to have more control of my journey.

Soon enough, I landed near Tailor. I turned to her and asked, "Found anything?"

"Yes. The car below us… oh my god, Simon!"

"Hey, I am in costume! Say Sentai Spartan, or Spartan for short!"

"I don't care! You're hurt!" Tailor shrieked even as she ran towards me, removing her backpack as she did so.

"Why, what is wrong?" I asked as I started patting myself. That was a big mistake right there, and I exclaimed as pieces flaked off my chest, "Ah fuck. FUCK!"

"Where are you… oh my god, you're hurt. You're hurt!" Tailor half threw her backpack onto the ground as she stared at me, "I... I don't know what to do, what should I… lie down please. Where's my first aid kit? Please lie down Simon, oh god oh god…"

I ignored her as I looked at my hands.

Huge clumps of melted plastic decorated my fists, the gloves of which tattered and burnt beyond recognition. Only a few tattered pieces remained of my obliterated gloves, mixing with the flaked-off yellow pieces of my costume's chestpiece as they cooled. More pieces wafted off as a wind caught them, creating a small storm of yellow melted plastic and latex in the wind.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuu…"

* * *

It took fifteen minutes before we recovered; a few for me to snap out from my costume destruction-induced mourning, another drawn out moment to reassure Tailor I was not hurt in any way, a short moment spent enduring Tailor's punches as she repeatedly hit me on the chest for 'worrying her for nothing', 'causing the scare of her life', and other such reasons, and the remainder spent with us hugging each other as she bawled her eyes out.

Yeah, I felt like crying too, as I watched the remains of my rare collectable drift away in the wind. But having to be a man sometimes had its disadvantages.

"Don't ever do this to me again!" Tailor finally concluded forcefully, punctuating her point with a weak smack of her fist as we separated, her arms long since lost any strength to do a decent attack. Turning her face away from me, she unmasked as she tore out clumps of cotton wool from the first aid kit, blowing her nose and wiping her face.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," I apologized yet again, adding one more to a long string of apologies, "… but we still have to find the bombs…"

Tailor did not reply, still bowing her head away from me. Her bugs answered for her however. A cloud of flies flew almost in formation, struggling in the winds of the rooftop as they formed a hazy arrow in the air, pointing towards a roof edge.

"Ok, thanks. Keep pointing the way." I replied verbally, and started to walk away.

And because of the noisily crunching gravel as well as the winds, I almost did not hear her whisper, "Please, stay safe."

* * *

"How sure are you this is one?" I pointed at another car boot. "After all, the last one turned out to be a golf bag…"

"I'm not sure, ok?" Tailor snapped back, "It's metal, long, cylindrical, and my bugs are feeling some sort of electric signal from it. Apparently that could mean anything under the sky."

Hearing the hostile tone of her voice, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Letting it out, I apologized yet again, "Look, I am sorry. I know you don't know, you're not trained to do this after all. I just wanted to make sure."

"I…!" I could see Tailor sigh, despite the mask, "I'm sorry too."

"Yeah. I think we need a break," I turned around, "after I examine this one at least. You know the drill."

"Ok." Tailor replied again needlessly. We both knew our roles, and Tailor performed hers as she ran away to find somewhere to hide. Battalions of her bugs flew off too, to warn the people nearby of the possibility of a bomb in their neighborhood. As for me, I cautiously walked up to the car Tailor had pointed out.

The black sedan did not have a license plate, I observed, and other distinguishing features that should have been there were missing too; its brand icon and the word 'Prius' was missing, a prominently darker, cleaner black outline showing where the metal pieces used to be.

Cautious of what happened to me earlier, I reached out my left hand to grab the notch where the boot release should be, my right arm raised and ready to punch whatever it was inside into oblivion. "Three," I said out loud, for Tailor's benefit, "two," as well as for my nerves, "one," and I took a breath.

With a sharp flick of my left arm, I tore the boot cover off the vehicle, the metal piece throw high into the air. My right arm remained cocked and ready to lash out, coiled muscles waiting for a hint to unwind…

… I lowered my arms instead, grabbing the bottom of the car, ready to throw it up high into the sky on a moment's notice.

"Tailor," I shouted, not daring to turn my head away from the cylinder of flashing lights and metal cylinders, watching it carefully for the telltale signs of pre-detonation, "I think we hit the jackpot."


	39. Arc 8: 35

**Snip #35**

Alright! We found one. We finally found one!

. ...

"Now what?" I said out loud as I watched a row of ants crawl over the metal surface.

"Maybe we should proceed as planned?" Tailor's voice sounded tinny from the earbud I was wearing, at the end of a wire connected to the cheap toy radio hanging off what was left of my belt.

"I am not sure about that. After what I have seen of Bakuda's effects, I am not too sure 'punching it' is the correct way to go about this, not after seeing... the others."

And I meant that.

I did not remember where I saw it from, but I was sure the standard procedure of dealing with an unknown explosive was to blow it up, crippling its triggering mechanisms before it could properly explode. We were planning to substitute 'blowing it up' with 'obliterating it with my punch', but I was suddenly not certain that was the correct way to go about it.

Not with these Tinkertech bombs, at least.

We had seen a few of Bakuda's creations when we were running about. Or rather we had seen the aftereffects of those which had already exploded… if you could even call it that. Some of the 'explosions' had been downright weird. There was the miniature sun, and at least two bubbles; one caused everything that entered it to shoot out of its other side at an insane speed, and another sucked any living beings touching it into its confined space. Also, we came across a riot of glowing red berserkers being contained by a PRT cordon. And the less said about the 'Vista' bomb, the better.

And yes, I could even link some of the aftermath of Bakuda's devices to the powers of capes I knew of. It was as if Bakuda was able to create "powers in a bomb" somehow, and she was using those in a terror campaign throughout the city.

So, these creations were not your standard explosive devices. And obviously that meant they were powered by something equally exotic. Who knew what would happen if I punched such things?

There was a hesitant silent pause before I prodded it, "Outside of that… any ideas what we should do next?"

There was another pause, before Tailor added, "Should we call the PRT? They should know how to deal with this."

"Do you have a mobile?"

"... no, and you know that."

"And I lost mine a while back." I replied, tapping the spot where my pocket used to be, "I guess it is only us for now. So, do you see anything that you can open, cut, or shut down?"

"No. The cylinder seems to be sealed up pretty tightly, and there are no loose wires. There seem to be a blinking light in one corner however, can you see that?"

I examined my target. The device continued to remain as inert as I had found it, the three steel cylinders that made up most of the device laid side by side where they were welded together, filling up the entire space of the car's boot. The only activity I could see was what Tailor had mentioned: a pair of lights flashed again. It was bright enough that I would have noticed when I opened the back of the car, so it should be something that had started afterwards.

The red blinker flashed again, and again, brightening up the shadow in the back of the car, as well as… something that glowed green.

"I see it." I told Tailor as I leaned forward. "There's something else too… hold on."

While my left hand tensed to throw, I brought my face closer to search for the other light source. I found it quickly; a display was located on the previously hidden far side of the panel with the blinking red light. It was not unlike a digital clock I used to have, the segmented display showing four numbers with a colon in the middle.

'80:00'

Well, if that was a countdown clock, even if it was displaying seconds I guess we had plenty of time. I began to speak, updating my partner of the situation, "Tailor, there's a…"

The display had blinked, changing to 'L0:00'.

"… a readout, and it just changed from…"

Another blink changed the readout into '90:00'.

I paused as my intuition caused a cramping feeling in my gut. "Five," I whispered, predicting what came next, having finally recognized the arrangement of the display.

The display blinked again. It now showed '50:00'.

"**Crap.**" my whisper followed my thoughts.

'h0:00'

That display was _UPSIDE DOWN_.

"From? I can't hear…" the voice came over the radio as I ducked out of the boot. Placing my right hand where my left was at the bottom of the vehicle's fender, I flipped the entire back half of the vehicle up into the air, exposing its underside into view.

Taking a step forward under the flipped metal, I caught the frame of the vehicle again, my left arm holding onto a thick metal block just below the driver's seat, the other as far back towards the boot as I could stretch my arms apart.

And without pause, I threw the car straight up into the sky.

"… wh**AT THE!?**" Tailor's question turned into a squawk of surprise as the vehicle shot past the roof where she was.

"**BOMB!**" I bellowed as I watched the airborne vehicle continue to go up, and up, and up. It began to flip in the air, spinning over itself as it went several times higher than any of the buildings around me. Small bits and objects began to spill and split from the flying metal of the…

No. Not small; that was the engine block… and that's the…

I swore over the beginnings of a similar indigent string of shouting over the radio, as I watched the bomb separate itself from the open boot of the vehicle. The metal barrels hung deceptively gently in the air, left behind by the still-rising car, but I knew it had already began to fall back down to us.

"TAKE COVER!" I shouted another warning as I ignored my own advice. I rushed towards the next car on the street, an unmarked white van. Grabbing onto the fender, I flipped it…

… and heard yelps of panic and surprise from within.

"Sorry!" I spoke quickly to the still sharply tilted vehicle as I ran past, "Didn't know…"

I reached the third vehicle in line, an empty sedan, and flipped it just like I had the other two vehicles, "… it was…"

I grabbed hold of the underside, sparing only moments to make sure I had a secure handhold even as I looked up at the falling bomb. "…occupied!"

And then I heaved.

With a loud crash that could be clearly heard despite the distance, the second car smashed roof-first into the falling metal barrels. Bits and pieces sheared off by the force of the impact flew everywhere from the collision, and the car itself was bent and warped by the force of my throw.

But what I had done worked; the bomb was caught by the frame of the second vehicle. They were flung high up into the sky until all I could see was a speck as large as my fingernail.

Suddenly, there was bright flash of light. After the bright moment, I saw a pulse of blue spread out from the bomb. The sphere expanded quickly, filling a large portion of the sky in an instant. Jagged arcs of lightning several blocks long lashed out from the bomb within its center, filling up the sphere's interior with blue and white.

And just as suddenly, the obvious 'explosion' of Bakuda's device disappeared as suddenly as it appeared. An anticlimactic 'pop' made itself known a few seconds later.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Tailor," I spoke into the radio, "I guess we can call this bomb defused."

"You defused nothing!"

I turned around, towards the new voice, and saw a familiar face… well, a familiar mask.

And by the shape of his lips below the famous 'V' visor, Armsmaster was not too happy to see me.


	40. Arc 8: 36

Apologies for the **massive** delay. I could give my excuses... but they are just that. Excuses.  
_*feeds self-doubt*_

**Snip #36**  
"You-!" Armsmaster snarled again. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

In the short pause between words I observed the armored Hero clad in his iconic blue and gray as he stood beside the upward-swung back door of the nondescript van. He had obviously only just disembarked from the vehicle, although he did not stray far from it; his head bobbed clear from the ceiling of metal of the exit as he stopped. One of his gauntleted arms gripped the edge of the vehicular access as he steadied himself, and his left leg remained raised and rested on the carpeted interior.

He was livid, clearly radiating hostility despite most of his face hidden behind his helm. His body shook on the spot as if he was clenching all his muscles at the same moment, and the gnashing of teeth was clearly audible from where I stood, and.

He was also not alone.

More occupants exited the van. A pair of officers ducked under the upraised back door as they disembarked behind the Tinker. At the same time, a sliding door moved along the side of the vehicle, a third man almost literally spilling out onto the sidewalk as the hastily shoved slab of metal stopped at its limits with a bang.

I recognized their affiliation immediately; the emerging trio wore the uniforms of the PRT. Their clothes were heavily padded blue, an almost black unmarked two-piece that hid their entire body from their necks to their boots, with long sleeves and leather gloves covering their arms. Their heads were exposed however, allowing me to easily identify the lone female within the group as the pair abruptly stopped and straightened behind Armsmaster's side.

It was clear I had not been expected, her surprise easily deduced in her wide open eyes. And yet she managed to maintain her professionalism; her feet were planted loosely on the ground where she stopped, a stance of unreleased tension. Her gaze remained alert as she scanned my unexpected presence up and down, obviously ready to react if I moved. And a pistol was in her hands a moment later, the weapon not quite raised towards me.

The same could not be said of the other officer who had also disembarked from the back; he joined the female officer with a weapon of his own, and this one was raised and aimed at me. I could clearly see the bronze cap of a bullet in the dark interior of the barrel from where I stood.

The third officer remained where he had fallen onto his arms on the sidewalk, half in and half out of the van as he busily emptied his stomach's contents into the nearby drain.

As for the hero, he continued to tremble as if he was straining against a heavy weight. His fists were clenched tightly and his feet was spread with knees bent, a hunched posture clearly balanced forward, a stance ready to leap in my direction.

I sighed.

I could not blame Armsmaster for his anger, or be surprised at the rest of them for their equally hostile reaction.

I had almost used them, van and all, as an impromptu missile after all.

Surprisingly, the moment of hostility passed before I could finish my drawn-out breath, let alone before I could begin to apologize; Armsmaster reacted first, his posture relaxed quickly as he straightened his posture. His head moved, nodding towards me with a vanishing grimace under his visor as he spoke.

"Friendly. Stand down."

That command was obviously not meant for me.

The PRT officers looked at the Protectorate hero, including the one who had only just recovered from his upset stomach, and it was clear they were unsure of what they had just heard. No, not exactly; the lady of the trio had an expression that had clearly transcended doubt, her expression having reached the lofty height of disbelief.

It was then a buzzing reached my ears. A housefly appeared in front of my face and began to make oval loops in the air.

I… ignored it. While I knew Tailor had something to tell me, this was too tense a moment for whatever it was she wanted my attention for.

"Do not engage," Armsmaster said again as he turned his head to his side, twisting his torso slightly to aim his visor at the pair behind him. His calm yet curt voice was heavy with the command of his authority, "He's... code 13."

A moment later a pistol was hosteled as stances relaxed all around. The other weapon remained lowered but ready.

"My apologies for that, Sir."

I looked back at Armsmaster as soon as he spoke. He had turned his head back to me without waiting to verify compliance of his previous orders, and he spoke again before verifying I had acknowledged his earlier apology, "We're… it has been a bit of a rough day today."

It was obvious what he meant.

"The bombs?" I asked.

The silver helm nodded, the beginnings of a smile appearing below the famous V visor.

I almost frowned. His friendliness was a sharp contrast to the anger he displayed only just earlier. The sudden change of humors was too sudden, if I was to be honest with myself, and it made his current mannerisms look fake. And then there was the officer beside him; her pistol was still out and ready as she continued to observe me thoroughly through wide eyes on top of steepled eyebrows, her mouth a straight line of apprehension so tight with tension that it almost seemed as if she was biting her own lips.

Still, I relaxed. Politeness should be met with more of the same.

In addition, he was probably grateful he was saved by me only a moment ago.

And I blinked.

I _DID_ save him, didn't I? I saved a hero, no, _THE_ Hero of Brockton Bay, didn't I? I wanted to be a Hero myself of course, but to save a hero meant I had ticked off one of the "all things a proper hero should do" checklist, didn't I? And I did that! I…

...I forced myself to focus back onto the present, suppressing my emotions before I started squeeing.

"I must apologize myself," I couldn't help the smile on my face even as I accepted his apology with one of my own. I gestured towards the vehicle, using the movement meant for emphasis to also wave off the flies buzzing about in front of me, "I almost…"

An upraised palm interrupted me.

"No apologies needed." Armsmaster spoke from behind his upraised hand, the weight of his commanding voice only slightly lessened towards me, "It is obvious why you're out here. The Protectorate appreciates all of those who are willing to help in moments of crisis. But..."

There was a pause.

"But?" I interrupted it.

Armsmaster opened his mouth. He closed it, and opened again. He eventually spoke, "Why are you naked? Where are your clothes?"

I blinked.

"Huh? I'm not." I slapped my hips. "At least, I'm not fully na..."

My palm had hit skin.

There was nothing in between.

The towel that should be there, wasn't. The replacement for both my dignity and the charcoaled and disintegrated Sentai Spartan costume was not where it should be tied around my waist.

I WAS naked.

"I guess I am…" my right arm moved on its own violation, covering up areas which should not see the sun. I turned away, especially away from the one officer who continued to be professional even as a deep blush covered her face.

"Si- Sentai! Here!"

I turned quickly enough to see Tailor jumping off the fire access she had climbed up earlier. She carried her backpack in front of her chest, and above that her bug-themed mask was set on her face, the facepiece contrasting badly with her shirt and jeans.

She was also waving a towel in her hands, an obvious replacement for the one I lost, as she began to run in my direction.

"It's 'Sentai Spartan'!" I shouted back as I pointed at her with my index finger, "And watch where-"

My warning came too late; blinded by her backpack, she stumbled over the ill-maintained sidewalk. Her next step missed the curb entirely, and with a loud yelp she lost her grip on the towel as she went down.

Thankfully the backpack padded her fall, but I still winced as she splayed out face down all over the road.

"Shit, Ta-" I started, and stumbled over my tongue as I realized I had almost said her name out loud, "Ta- Tarantula!? Are you alright?"

"Owww…" was the entirely reasonable response from my partner.

* * *

"Ow, ow, ow!" Tailor enthusiastically expressed her distress. "Plea-ow, ow, OW!"

"Don't move," I said as I gave her no mercy in the name of sanitation. I held onto her arm with one hand and dabbed the antiseptic-soaked cotton bud onto her skinned palm several more times as I continued, "and don't run, not without watching your step."

"You do th-that all the time…" Tailor managed to reply as I dabbed a sizable gash.

"But I do watch my step. Even if you're only jogging, you'll be surprised at how painful the result is if you place a foot wrong. And I'm, as you say, a Brute. I can take the fall; I can't imagine how painful it would be for you if you're not as lucky as today."

She fell silent at my words. Except for the occasional wince, of course.

With one last dab, I decided I had disinfected the wound enough. I disposed of the cotton ball and began to rummage through the helpfully well-stocked first aid kit for some gauze.

That wasn't the only item Armsmaster's officers had given us.

The bright orange tank top with 'PRT' printed on both sides front and back wasn't the most comfortable and definitely not the warmest of garb, but the unmarked van did have a set in my size. And with what happened to my previous costume, or lack of, I would take what I could.

At least the dark brown camouflaged track pants which came with it was decently warm.

And the reason why they had these on hand? The answer made so much sense that it bordered on common sense: cape fights between powerful individuals were quite destructive, all things considered. If brutes were involved, one of the first things to go in a conflagration would usually be their costumes. Thus, it only made sense that the PRT always had some surplus with them at all times.

I wondered if Glory Girl carried a spare set everywhere she went… but I digress.

They even had some underwear I could use with the sleeveless shirt, long pants and tiny domino mask. Said garments were comfortable briefs, cotton one-size-fits-alls on which was printed a very distinctive blue symbol.

I even had a pair of those back home!

When I asked why his mark was where it was, Armsmaster simply said, "Surplus," and refused to speak of it any more. The PRT officers was also no help; the lady officer made herself scarce shortly after I asked while stammering some nonsense about 'duty' and 'work', sneaking glances at Armsmaster as she said it, and the grins on the remaining pair of males were infuriatingly mysterious as they too refused to answer.

Curiously, Tailor also failed me; she looked down at her feet when I asked, and refused to respond to this one question no matter what I tried.

Was there some big bad secret with these briefs?

I shrugged. Who cares anyway? I was getting hero memorabilia for free! What's not to like about that?!

I snapped out of my thoughts as the situation changed; the female officer had returned from wherever she had been. She approached the van at a brisk jog, and I half expected her to snap to attention in front of the Protectorate leader within.

Instead, she simply stopped, her feet slightly apart as she stood just beyond the back hatch. She remained attentive to her surroundings, her head moving about as she looked everywhere but at the Protectorate leader.

"I found a working land-line sir."

I looked up into the sky. The earlier bomb had something called an EM...P? Whatever it was, the bomb had somehow knocked out all the electrical appliances in the area. Easy evidence could be found from all the cellphones affected, as well as the dead traffic lights, the smell of burnt electronics in the commercial radio Tailor and I used to communicate with each other, and the dead engine of the PRT van.

Even Armsmaster's famous armor was affected somewhat; The Hero had grudgingly informed me his communications equipment as well as some of his sensors were currently out of action, grumbling something about 'off the shelf components'. He had then immediately followed that up with thickly layered reassurances that we were safe by dint of him being combat capable, a condition he proudly attributed to his still-working armour, and further dissembling that to the quality of his own work.

And he finished the statement-turned-speech with an assurance that as a Hero he would not be found wanting.

But I digress. I looked towards the returned officer as she finished giving directions to the working phone.

"Good." Armsmaster nodded as he stood up. "Let's go. We need to get word to-"

And of course that was when things went wrong. The ground shook as a corner of the block we were parked beside burst into flames. A gigantic form rolled into view, as great bellows of fire spread from the inferno, covering the entire intersection in flame and smoke.

It wasn't another explosion however; the firestorm in front of us had more in common to a bonfire. And in the middle of that conflagration was… a humanoid?

Who could also speak.

"**'****aooh fuuuund 'uuuu**"


	41. Arc 8: 37

There is no invisible text in FF, so I shall replace it with _(Bracketed Italic'ed underline)_. You'll know why I wanted it invisible when you reach 'there'.

* * *

**Snip #37**

It spoke well of the professionalism of those on the good side of the law when everyone else scattered before the man aflame had even began to stand; two of the officers ducked behind their van, their pistols in their hands once again. The third officer, the one who had vomited earlier accosted Tailor and, after a short period of half-hearted resistance from the bug controller, both of them sought cover further behind the first pair.

That was then I lost track of who went where as I turned my head back. I directed most of my attention onto the new threat as I took a step forward, and-

-and I noticed that Armsmaster had done the same.

We stood side by side, in between the van and the burning streets, readying ourselves for the obvious conflict against the burning humanoid who appeared to be three times our size combined. Two heroes, drawing an invisible line in the middle of the street, the only protection the halpless civilians had from the conflagration ahead. Two agents of justice, about to clash in a battle of good vs evil against the obviously evil boss character.

Of course, Armsmaster was the only truly heroic one of the pair; I was only an untested independent after all. And the 'innocents' we were protecting was a trio of PRT officers and a collaborator. Only through technicalities were they considered mostly 'powerless', and they are certainly not halpless civilians.

But seriously, how COOL was my situation right now?!

I cringed instead.

No, bad Simon. Bad bad Simon. This was a serious situation, with serious possible repercussions, and with the _Protectorate ENE Leader_ in attendance to boot. Be professional! Be professional… I squashed the smile on my face as I sighed, the outtake of breath barely hiding the suppressed high-pitched excitement coming out of my mouth.

And of course, there might not even be a confrontation; I did not know the intent of the person we were up against. For all I knew, he might actually be here only for a little chat over some tea.

Then again, I was pretty sure Lung had not come here simply to chat amicably...

… wait? Lung?! The famous Villain of Kyushu? Here?

This was worth one **big** tick in the 'epic heroic encounters' column.

Still, something about Lung's voice and the way it was distorted twigged on me. It seemed there was an unrecalled memory nagging at me, as if I had heard his voice before. Had I met the villainous boss in the past?

… meh, might have been my imagination. I would have known if I had met someone this famous.

The air had heated up beyond uncomfortable while I was lost in thought, despite it being only moments ago since the leader of the ABB had crashed into view. The heat of the ever-increasing inferno did not quite reach the heights I had experienced earlier today, but I was sure even a short stay in this heat was deadly for most people. Probably.

Wait, 'deadly'? But what about…?

I spared some attention to my side.

Armsmaster did not seem to be affected in any way. Instead, he was… he was striking a heroic pose.

The blue armored hero held himself low to the ground, both his knees bent and ready to leap. His torso was twisted to one side, presenting his left shoulder towards the new arrival, and his left arm almost seemed to spear out from his torso towards the new threat. His other hand was clenched tightly above and behind his head, and I could somehow sense the tension suppressed in the limb, ready to flick forward in a deadly strike.

And held firmly in both his hands was his signature weapon.

Armsmaster's halberd had appeared almost as if by magic, which probably was not far from the truth given how tinkertech usually was; I had not noticed anything which could have hidden the tinkertech weapon earlier, despite it being larger than anything Armsmaster had on him and taller than the full height of its owner. It was held firmly in both the Hero's arms, the axe-blade low on the ground as it flickered with reflected light.

No, Armsmaster was not affected by the heat at all. Rather, in that very moment he was every bit a _HERO_, capital letters and all.

Me? I was suddenly very self-conscious where I stopped, attentive but otherwise… standing normally.

I... Maybe I should do something visible? Pose as a hero should? Borrow something from Sentai Spartan, may his costume rest in peace?

No, that was something for later. I had to deal with the now. And the now, for me, was hearing Armsmaster speak in my direction, "Simon, stay back."

My head snapped up and back towards the Hero, an astonished "Buwah?" making it out of my mouth.

"Stay back," Armsmaster repeated as he remained in his heroic pose, "This is my duty, I'll handle this."

"But… but he's Lung!" I retorted. "Are you sure?"

"It's best if you don't join in precisely because he's Lung." the Protectorate Leader's stance tipped a little forward as he continued, "You can help evacuate the surround-"

Whatever the Hero wanted to say was interrupted by a roar, "**'****gummer! Aayy rit derr! 'arrr nexx!**" (_Runner! Stay right there! You're next!)_

Time was up apparently as the gigantic humanoid charged forward. Lung gathered speed as he closed the short distance towards us. The way he moved seemed to be sluggish at first, but somehow the slow acceleration only made him seem unstoppable. Every movement of the man behind the flames had the feeling of an extraordinarily heavy object in motion, a promise of irresistible force capable of shoving aside all obstacles. The earth below my feet shook in announcement of every step he took, and his furious roar only added to the sheer presence of the dragon-themed villain.

"Stay back!" Armsmaster hollered one last time as he too charged. His movement seemed to contrast Lung's in every way possible; the blue and white clad hero was gone in a moment, his dash faster than his bulkily armoured body had any right to be. He barely seemed to touch the ground as he zig zagged towards his quarry, small explosions of pulverized asphalt marking his footsteps behind him.

The shaft of the tinkertech weapon lanced out in a flash, the brightness of the attack as if a lightning bolt had been commanded out of his arm.

Lung somehow swatted the weapon out of the air, despite the casually slow shrug of his seemingly lazy swipe. He reared up his other arm as he did so and smashed down, creating a large crater in the middle of the road.

Armsmaster had already darted away from where he was previously, his movements just as impossibly quick as before as he spun around his opponent's arm. Three arcs of electric-white discharges drew lines of light through air, forcing a roar out of the asian parahuman as they hit with the booming crack of lightning, and three more crescents cut through the air from the silver strafing around the red, the slashes aimed at Lung's exposed sides.

And yet Lung was faster; the massive humanoid leaned heavily onto his left leg in response. The large bulk of his body shifted, his stance lowered, and with an almost casual twist of his torso he took the blows onto his shoulders even as he used the same momentum to throw an uppercut.

I blinked. Were those scales on Lung's skin? No wonder almost everyone I knew called him a dragon.

Said dragon missed however, the lumbering uppercut unable to catch Armsmaster's quick movements. Instead, the Hero was suddenly in between Lung and me once more, skidding to a stop in a crouch balanced by a palm on the road. He appeared to stagger for a moment before he recovered. He had also brought up his right arm, holding his weapon up almost like a flag, the axe blade high and ready to strike.

That was probably a feint judging by what he did next; compartments opened on top of Armsmaster's armour as he drew his left hand across both his shoulders, retrieving something as he did so. His arm continued the quick movement in a smooth arc aimed towards the gang leader.

The small objects stabbed into Lung's left palm, the approximately nine feet tall humanoid somehow intercepting the attack despite having raised his arm almost casually. Also just as casually, he turned his palm towards himself and took a long look at the objects he had grabbed, before he formed a fist.

"**'****dis again? 'Ho doo'u 'ink ah am!?**" _(This again? Who do you think I am!?)_

"It worked once," Armsmaster bluntly replied as he stood up from his crouch. The air began to shimmer where he straightened as he continued, "It'll work-"

"-again." Armsmaster said from where he had somehow appeared behind the dragon, highlighted by a beam of light from a metal something on the ground. His halberd was already in motion, and Lung did not have time to flinch before the axe head bit deeply into flesh. A roar of pain rattled the few unbroken windows nearby with its volume as the parahuman villain fell forward onto all fours.

'Well then,' I thought as I closed my open, astonished mouth. I scratched the back of my head as I watched a sudden inferno pulverize everything behind the dragon man, and the silver streak of movement that suggested the Hero had gotten away.

I guessed Armsmaster really did have things under control, even if that was Lung he was fighting against. That short exchange a mere few seconds long had really opened my eyes and told me just how vast the world was, how high the various peaks of power could get. And it was no wonder Armsmaster was the leader of a Protectorate branch, to be able to match someone who had deadlocked an Endbringer blow-for-blow.

So, what did he want me to do again? Oh right.

I turned around and ran into a nearby building just after Armsmaster dropped like a bolt from heaven onto Lung.

With some luck I might find someone to rescue.

* * *

"Si- Spartan!"

"That's 'Sentai Spartan'!" I replied by reflex as I turned my head towards the foot of the stairs I was on, careful not to jostle the granny holding onto my arm as I shoted my annoyance back. "Can you-"

"Never mind that!" Tailor shouted from where she stood at the main doors of this apartment complex. Breathing heavily through the towel that was her temporary 'mask', she continued, "What are you even doing?"

I raised an eyebrow. It should be obvious, right?

"I'm helping her evacuate," I answered anyway, gesturing to my side with my unoccupied arm in emphasis as the granny took another shaky step down the stairs, "It's not safe to use the lifts in event of a fire and she doesn't want to be carried, so I am escorting her down the… erm… is something wrong?"

Something was indeed wrong. I recognized almost all the signs of my young partner's frustration towards something I had apparently done wrong. The slight shaking of her shoulders, the faint hint of a defeated aura around her slouched shoulders, the not-quite audible mumbling, and failing all of that, the very, very overt and obvious facepalm.

The only symptom left that wasn't there was the-

"What are you doing _HERE_?" Tailor shouted, "That's _LUNG_ out there!"

-shouting. Oh boy.

"Tarantula?" I used the name I created earlier, mindful of the rules behind cape identities, "Is something wrong?"

"I… you… don't tell me you don't know who that is?!"

"Lung, right?" I verified before I began to recite, "Real name unknown, Lung is an Asian parahuman, most probably Japanese. Based in Brockton Bay, he's also the leader of the local Asian Bad Boys, commonly known by its acronym 'ABB', which means he commands approximately a third of Brockton Bay's crime scene.

"His costume consists of shirtlessness on top of stretch-jeans, a metal mask and a whole lot of dragon tattoos. Thank you by the way Tailor; he did not use to have that mask in the past, as well a large number of those tattoos. If you had not shown me before, I would not have recognized him.

"And his ability is to escalate; the more he fights, the stronger and tougher he gets, and he gains a stronger regeneration over time too. The strongest he had been is also what made him famous, where he was able to match an Endbringer one-on-one to a draw in Kyushu."

"Then why?" Tailor's near shriek interrupted my thoughts, her reply not what I was expecting after my answer, "You know just how dangerous he is! Why aren't you helping Armsmaster against him? If you know he gets impossibly strong over time, why aren't you fighting him _NOW_?"

"'Over time'," I pointed out metaphorically, and physically with an index finger directed towards the ceiling, "Everyone knows his one big weakness is that he needs time to ramp up. Without that, almost anything can take him right at the start. There's people out there saying he can be taken down even by a capeless with a sniper rifle.

"And Armsmaster himself told me to stay back. From the little I've seen of their opening moves, I'm pretty sure Armsmaster can really take-"

I was interrupted by an enormous crash, the entrance suddenly replaced by a large cloud of brownish dust. A silver boulder tumbled out in an insanely speedy trajectory, almost hitting Tailor where she stood on the ground floor hallway. It continued unhindered and struck the wall behind me, pulverizing the other end of the foyer, creating an equally huge cloud of dust in the other side of the room.

"- him?"

Erm… was that Armsmaster?

It was. I watched the dust settle around the Hero half-sunken into the wall.

I was wrong about something again, wasn't I?


End file.
